


Two in Fourteen Million

by slimandalittlebitfoxy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:08:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27548107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slimandalittlebitfoxy/pseuds/slimandalittlebitfoxy
Summary: “You wanna hear something stupid?” He took Steve’s silence as a confirmation, but didn’t think he could stop if he tried. “I carried around that phone the whole damn time. Since the day you sent it to me, I carried it. Just in case the world needed you.”“I didn’t give it to you to let me know if the world needed me.” Steve looked up. Tony was frightened to see how much older he looked—maybe not in body, but in spirit. His jaw was set. He was angry too, though Tony would have bet money it was directed more at himself than anyone. “I gave it to you so you could call me if you needed me.”“That’s the thing, Cap,” Tony said. “I always needed you.”(The one where everyone lives.)
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 18
Kudos: 207





	1. Good Intentions

**Author's Note:**

> I binge-watched all of the Marvel movies in a couple weeks, after having only seen about three of them in the past decade. Though I regret not being a member of this fandom when it was still more active, I was more than ready to contribute after having my heart ripped out of my chest and stomped on after Endgame. For those of you still around, I hope you enjoy this fix-it fic as much as I enjoyed pretending it's the way things actually went, if just for a short time.

Tony had always tried to help people.

He used to think so, anyway. Weapons production in the name of National Security, used to slaughter thousands of innocents. His “suit of armor around the world” turned supervillain. Billions of dollars worth of property damage. Lives lost that could never be made up for with a check. Hell, his own suit technology had even been used against him.

It was getting harder to defend his reputation against—well, himself, let alone the rest of rightfully pissed off planet.

_The road to hell is paved with good intentions._

He should get that tattooed on his stupid fucking forehead.

He stared after Rogers, the unsigned Accords looking small and insignificant against the expanse of the conference table. It was one last-ditch effort to keep things under control. And Rogers, with his perfect teeth, God-Bless-the-Troops, helps-grandmas-across-the-street-and-can-do-know-wrong reputation just didn’t _understand._ He didn’t _understand_ what it was to be your own worst enemy. Part of Tony wanted to protect him from that. He needed this just as much as the rest of them. He just didn’t know it.

Tony stood up and went after Steve. He spotted him at the end of the hall, waiting for the elevator. “Cap—baby, give me one more chance!” He shouted, spreading his arms in a mock-pleading gesture, picking up his pace as the doors started to creep open. He had to make him _understand._

Tony grabbed Steve’s shoulder and made to turn him around. Steve whipped around, shrugging his grasp with a ferocity that shocked Tony silent. Something was in his eyes—something different. Something angry and something—else. “Don’t touch me.”

All the words Tony had wanted to say shriveled up and died in his suddenly dry throat. Steve pushed him into the empty conference room on their left. Tony staggered back in surprise, leaning against the long, hard-edge of the table. The impact jogged some words loose. “Damn, Cap, if it were anyone else I’d think you were about to bend me over and have your way with me,” Tony spat.

Steve shut the door, none-too-gently, behind him. He turned on Tony with the same ferocity he’d shown when he grabbed his shoulder. “Can you just— _shut_ up—for two seconds? I’ve seen politicians fail, over and over again. I’ve seen what it happens to people, innocent people, when paperwork is valued more than decisive action. If people always followed orders, if you and I always followed orders, the world would be a much different place. I don’t ever want to see what that world looks like. I don’t trust anyone more than I trust myself—and you shouldn’t either.”

“Trust? This—this is _not_ about trust,” Tony said, his insides starting to boil. “This is about those innocent lives that you’re hell-bent on protecting. Lagos was the final straw. What about _those_ people? How have you been sleeping, knowing their blood is partly on your perfect hands?”

Those hands were now curled into fists. “We saved people.”

Tony powered on, noting with a sick satisfaction that he’d struck a nerve. “Ah—you saved _some_ people. You preformed the perfect example of the trolley problem. You sacrificed a group of people to save a different group of people. We have to stop the trolley altogether. I know from personal experience, buddy. Your decisions— _our decisions_ —have led to so much death and destruction it makes me feel physically ill. Why am I suddenly the bad guy for trying to transfer the responsibility of having to make that call?”

“That’s what a coward does, Stark.” Steve’s voice was cold. “We’ve all made mistakes. The difference is that some of us own them, learn from them, and do better next time.”

“Now you’re just willfully misunderstanding my motivations. This _is_ me learning from my mistakes, _our_ mistakes,” Tony said, dumbfounded. “How can you not see that? How can you not see that this is not only protecting other people, but protecting us from ourselves?”

“That’s the difference between you and I. I know myself, and I sure as hell don’t need protection from who I am. You get so lost in a bottle when things go south you can barely remember where you went wrong. I don’t have the capacity to accidentally invent a sentient weapon of mass destruction.”

“That’s a creative way to admit you’re too stupid to do anything meaningful in an attempt to help the planet at large.” Tony couldn’t remember the last time he was this angry at someone other than himself. “You—you just don’t get it. You’ll never get it, because you’re so fucking _stubborn._ It’s—you—it’s easy for you.”

“Easy—easy for _me_?”

“Yes—easy. Everyone’s had a boner for Captain America since the day they shot you up with that serum. You can do no wrong. My dear father would have traded his _fortune_ if he could have just had a son like you—well, maybe half of it. You walk into a press meeting all blond hair and smiles and the reporters melt. Meanwhile, I nearly kill myself flying into a wormhole, saving the entirety of one of the world’s most populous cities, and somehow _the next week_ they manage to fit in an opinion piece about who they think I’m sleeping with that day. You don’t get it. You don’t get what I’m trying to do here.”

Steve paused, mulling this over for a moment, though his jaw was still set in a fury that was unfamiliar on his unlined face. “I do get it. I just don’t agree. I don’t see how it’s somehow my, or any of our, responsibility to help you pick up the pieces of a reputation you started building—and destroying—for yourself decades ago.”

“You’re wrong. You’re so, so wrong about that. You know why?” Tony paused, giving him the opportunity. Steve didn’t bite. He took a deep breath. “I gave up trying to save my public reputation long ago. I’m going to be stupidly fucking vulnerable right now but I just. All I want—all I wanted, was to gain the respect from people I’ve grown to care about. I need you to know I’m doing this for you. All of you. And the billions of people on this planet we’ve been desperately trying to protect. I haven’t always been the person I am now, that’s true. You said that parts of the man you were went in the ice 75 years ago and never came back. The man that I was died between the time I got blown up and when a scientist that had no reason to show me kindness hooked a battery up to my chest to save my life in that cave in Afghanistan. You’re just as bad as the rest of them if you still think that’s who I am. They thought I was a lunatic when I wanted to change. Maybe I am, for thinking I ever could.” Tony closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, Steve was staring at him. The set in his jaw had slackened. His eyes softened.

“I—I’m trying here.” Tony was embarrassed at the way his voice was beginning to shake and—oh god, he was about to cry. Oh, fuck no. He bit it back. Steve just kept staring. He wanted to scream— _say something oh my god say something, please, I can’t do this, I can’t I’m trying I can’t I can’t I can’t anymore._

“I won’t sign the Accords,” Steve said, after far too long.

Tony sighed. “I know. I’m just afraid. I’m afraid of what this means. For me—for us. All of us. It’s not going to be pretty. Even for you, and that’s one of the two things you’re good at.”

Steve stepped forward and put a hand on Tony’s shoulder despite the half-hearted snide remark. There was something else there, now. Something like affection, tenderness, maybe something more. He brought his face closer to Tony’s and he could feel the ghost of his breath and the smell of a musky aftershave. Tony inhaled and soaked in it. God help him, but it was comforting. Then Steve did something bizarre. He pulled Tony into a hug. Steve’s too-big hand moved from his shoulder to the back of his head, his other arm wrapped around his back, and he just held him there for a moment. His face was in Tony’s hair. It was a moment that was both too long and too short all at once. Tony’s chest rattled with the start of a sob, knowing this would be the closest—well, he wouldn’t think about that. What was the point? Steve held him tighter, for just a second.

It felt like a goodbye.

In some ways, it was.

**********

Steve sealed the letter in the envelope and scratched Tony’s name onto the face. The desk was littered with discarded papers full of half-formed thoughts and scratched out words. He didn’t know if what he’d written would mean anything to Tony. He thought it might. His mind raced with things he should say but wouldn’t. _I’m sorry that we had to beat the daylights out of each other, but I couldn’t let you kill a man that I’ve known as long as I can remember that I thought I’d left to die in a ravine, even though he killed your parents, but that wasn’t him, he’s a great guy just trust me. I’m sorry I constantly subliminally compare you to your father even though I honestly barely knew him and I could never tell you how I felt before but hopefully this half-baked letter that I’m writing makes up for years of unfairly blaming you for trying and sometimes failing to do the right thing, because I get it now, trying and failing and losing and winning, it’s more gray than I ever thought. Doing things for yourself and doing things for others sometimes overlaps, but sometimes it doesn’t and sometimes you do have to do things for yourself and for the people you love, and facing the consequences is a nightmare in itself._ He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried not to think. The look in Tony’s eyes, that deep, soul-crushing look, when—no. The letter. And the phone. That’s all he could do. No use on lingering on things neither of them could change.

Against his most disciplined wishes, he couldn’t help but think about that first, and last moment of intimacy they would seemingly ever share. Steve holding him, in that dark conference room. Trying to squeeze together the pieces that he’d end up pulling apart just a short time later. Trying to silently share with him words that he just couldn’t—wouldn’t—audibly give the air around them. Instead they hung there, unacknowledged, hiding in the shadows and left to rot.

He’d never wanted to hurt Tony.

_He was my friend._

_So was I._

So many unsaid words had crackled in the air around them, a palpable storm of electrified feelings. _Was that all?_

He dropped the cell phone in the FedEx box and taped it closed. Bucky’s survival meant the death of the relationship between Steve Rogers and Tony Stark. Their paths had converged and were now flying at blinding speeds in different directions. How did it go? You can’t have your cake and eat it too?

Steve knew they’d find their way back to each other, though he would never have guessed the circumstances in which it would happen.

**********

Tony itched to make the call. He stared blankly at the ceiling in a bed that now felt too large. There were holes in the space where Pepper’s things had lived up until yesterday. The room felt like it was drawing away and closing in on him all at once. He’d blame it on the nearly empty bottle of scotch on his bedside table, but the tears running hot and heavy down his cheeks told a different story.

_I can’t compete with a ghost._

She was right, and he hadn’t even realized it. He did now. He just didn’t know what to do about it.

He didn’t blame her. He was done blaming.

He grabbed the phone that was sitting right next to his head from where he turned out his pockets when he had gotten home. He had dutifully carried the shitty piece of plastic with its juvenile circuitry around for a year and a half, now. _God, had it been that long?_ He flipped it open. He had charged it a few days ago. The screen was a beacon in the crowding darkness of the room. He looked at the contact. The singular contact. He choked out another sob, closed it, and placed it back on the table by the bed. He rubbed his hands over his stubbled face, needing a shave but not caring enough to do it. Was he a fifteen-year-old girl? Needing to call an old friend to help him get over a breakup? Could this be the event in the zany buddy comedy of their lives that brings them back together? _Stay tuned to find out next week._ Fucking pathetic.

He closed his eyes and eventually fell into a restless sleep. He saw Steve’s face, angry and dirty over him. Steve was slamming the edge of the shield Howard Stark had so carefully crafted for the great Captain America into Tony’s chest. Over, and over, and over. He felt afraid, and sad, and helpless, and so very, very angry. He woke in the still-dark hours of the early morning, drenched in sweat, a cacophony of metal against metal still ringing in his ears.

**********

Steve Rogers watched his friends disintegrate before his eyes. Again, and again, and again. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it. It was different than the times he had lost people before. Part of what made it different this time was that everyone had lost people. A lot of people.

That made it harder for Steve. It wasn’t a pain he’d wish on anyone, and now it was something that everyone knew far too well.

When Tony returned, half-crazed and more than half-dead after weeks of hurtling through space without an end in sight, he was the first to make contact. He put an arm around him, supporting the shockingly frail weight of him until Pepper stepped in. He planted a chaste kiss on her cheek.

_I lost the kid._

The pain Tony’s his eyes. Steve hadn’t known Peter, really, but he was just a kid. That was true. And Tony cared for him, deeply. The haunted, frantic look in his eyes told him as much.

_Tony…we lost._

He meant it as some kind of—he didn’t know. Comfort? That they were all in this together, perhaps? He realized then that nothing he could say about what had happened three weeks ago could be considered comforting. Steve had never been great at confronting emotions. He preferred to speak with his actions. It was the soldier in him. But now, he couldn’t even begin to think of what actions could fix this. What could make them all whole again. He would have never considered Tony an optimist, but there was always, _always_ , some kind of solution he could offer. Steve could see in the drawn lines of his face, those dead eyes, that he gave up hope, utterly and completely, as soon as he saw Parker fade into the foreign atmosphere of that distant planet. For the first time in a long, long time, he felt the hope that had been a constant, steady beacon in his chest for decades fade to nothing more than a weak, sickly glow.

Steve had then pushed him—probably too hard. He had always been good at that, if anything—pushing Tony’s buttons. Tony turned on him. Y _ou weren’t there_ , he’d said. It hurt.

Steve hadn’t been there. He hadn’t been there to protect them, to fight with them—to stop Thanos before it got too far, to stop anything. Memories flashed through his mind at a blinding speed. The battle in New York—nerves alight with the excitement and danger, almost laughing as Tony shot a beam against his shield and they mowed hostile aliens down like paper cards. The comradery. The late night snacks and reality TV, pranks and group dinners and cups of coffee at all hours. When things were—they had never been easy, but they’d had each other. He wasn’t there when Tony needed him, and maybe it wouldn’t have mattered, but it could have, and that was enough to send him reeling. The frail, starved man that was staring him down was not the one he’d last seen in Siberia, but the blaze his eyes was the frighteningly familiar. Tony was right. No trust _._ No trust between him and a man he would have laid his life down for time and time again, fighting back to back in an untouchable rhythm, something like—well, dancing. He thought briefly of the dance he’d promised Peggy, the beautiful, fiery young woman she was. She was the love of his life. He though he hadn’t danced since. Maybe he was wrong, in a way. Nothing about his life could be described as conventional.

And he _was_ sorry. That was the most pitiful part, wasn’t it? Regret coiled deep and black inside of his guts, racing through his veins like a debilitating drug, sapping him of whatever fight he had left. It was unfamiliar, and it was terrifying. Rhodes helped Tony to bed after he collapsed. Steve was shaking, the arc reactor clutched in white-knuckled hands. Part of Steve had been mortified when Tony ripped it off his chest, only to remember when the skin was unmarked that he’d had the original removed years ago. Pepper stayed with Tony while he slept. He wondered if—there wasn’t time to wonder. Why did it matter, anyway?

After Thor killed Thanos, they were left with nothing but more questions. At the same time, they were handed an even bigger answer—there was nothing they could do. The sickly glow of hope was extinguished. This was the hand they’d been dealt. It was time to move on with the cards they had left.

**********

Tony was back on his feet after a few days. Not tip-top shape by any means, but better. He almost wished his mini-coma had lasted longer. He’d already spent several long, long weeks mulling over everything that had happened. There hadn’t exactly been much in the way of entertainment when he and Nebula had been rattling around that gutted ship. His brain had been damn near fried trying to come up with impossible solutions. He would give anything to shut it off for just a little longer. Confronting the new reality they had to deal with was horrifying, to say the least.

He was glad he had Pepper, even if it wasn’t how it was before. That didn’t matter. She knew him better than anyone. She moved back in—settled in a different room this time—but it was nice, not having to be alone. Being alone would be the worst thing for him right now. Though if he was honest with himself, he hadn’t stopped feeling alone, not quite, since Siberia. At least he didn’t have to be alone in body, if he was in mind.

They moved into a cabin on the lake. It was nice. Quiet. Unlike any part of his life before.

Over the next two years, they fell into a comfortable rhythm. Tony made his moves, his jokes, worked on new tech. Pepper brushed him off with an effortless grace he both loathed and admired. She cooped herself dutifully up in her office each day, still handling the responsibility of picking up the pieces of the business that were left. The government, though he would never have considered it a well-oiled machine, was obviously still on the rocks. When half the people that ran it disappeared, it made landing contracts a little trickier. Mostly, they were laying low. They weren’t the only ones adjusting to a new normal.

Natasha had fallen into leading whatever it was that was left of S.H.I.E.L.D. He’d heard through the grapevine—namely, Rhodey—that Clint had gone rogue. His entire family had been Snapped. He guessed that’s what people were calling it now. _Snapped_.

Hearing that broke Tony a little. Clint’s wife with her quick wit and kind eyes, those beautiful little children. Clint was clever, an incredibly fighter, and a loyal friend. Why had people like Tony survived while so many others were lost? How had he been so lucky to keep Pepper and Happy, when so many had to try to move on from having their whole hearts shredded apart?

He hadn’t stayed in touch with anyone else. Besides the occasionally phone call from Rhodey, it seemed like everyone was avoiding him. Or giving him space. He wasn’t sure which. After his meltdown upon his return, he supposed it had been an understood retirement. He’d attended one meeting where they went over who they’d lost, and that had been more than enough for him, almost too much. He hadn’t even considered putting his Iron Man suit on since the Snap happened. Maybe he never would again. There was a suspicious lack of anything needing Avengers-level attention, not that the Avengers existed anymore. Could it really be considered suspicious, even? Every other planet in the whole goddamn universe was having to deal with things perhaps even worse than they were.

He missed them. All of them. Natasha with her cool façade and liver of steel. Bruce with an obsessive intellect rivaling his own and surprising cooking skills. Clint with his keen eyes and clever comebacks. Thor with his booming laugh and kind naivety that rivaled even Steve’s. And—Steve. Steve with his disgustingly perfect posture and intense and unwavering faith. Steve, who learned how to tell jokes and how the internet worked and the importance of knowing how to text instead of calling every damn person every time and how Tony liked his coffee. He thought about Steve, more than he’d like to. He sat on the porch, staring out over the water. He didn’t have to be as busy anymore. He used to always be busy, getting ready for the next threat, on his toes in a way that set his anxiety into constant overdrive, his skin practically crackling with it. It was good, and it was bad, because it gave him more time to think. Not about productive things, though. About things like Steve’s posture and humor and late cups of coffee in his lab when Steve would come down and sometimes draw and sometimes read real, paper-and-ink books, and sometimes just _watch_ so quietly, like stone. He’d ask a question occasionally and Tony would be happy to answer, almost eager. He loved being smarter than everyone else, the advantage made him feel safe, but part of him that would never admit it longed to be understood.

Steve never understood him, not fully. But he tried. Oh, how he’d tried. That’s all he could ever ask for. Scribbling little notes and sketches in the increasingly beat up journal he carried around in the pocket of his consistently neat jeans. All the tech in the world and he wanted nothing more than a scrap of paper and a good, old-fashioned #2 pencil. It was infuriating and charming all at once.

He might not have understood the advanced mechanics of Tony’s speech, but he understood things that counted—things that Tony took for granted. Like when Tony had been working too long. Once, after a nearly four-day-stint, Steve just picked him up with no preamble, firefighter-style, and carried him to the elevator. He had thrown the smaller man over his big shoulder like a ragdoll. Tony had almost fallen asleep there on the way up. Even amid his initial cursing and protests, Steve had remained silent. Strong. Solid. _There._ Steve had been there for him once. He thought he always would be. How stupid he’d been.

Pepper could never do something like that for him. Not just the physical part of it—though to some small part of him, maybe a big part, it had been exhilarating. Pepper didn’t know how to _handle_ Tony like that. She had always been able to quiet him, comfort him. Being around someone for as long as they’d been around each other—it was a relationship that was difficult to duplicate, and over time you just learned things like that. In some ways, he thought she was afraid of him. Not in a dangerous way, like he’d snap at any second and hurt her. It was almost like she was afraid of breaking him. Parts of him were fragile. She knew that better than anyone. The thing he’d liked—and hated—about Steve, was that he wasn’t afraid to bust those parts wide open to see what would happen, because Steve was going to be there to pick up the pieces. Some things have to be shattered before they can get better, like a broken arm that’s healed wrong. Steve knew that better than most people.

Except that last time. Steve broke him wide open and some of those pieces never fit back into place. Tony was starting to believe they never would. He’d needed Steve’s help and he wasn’t there.

If asked, Tony would never admit that he’d held a torch for Steve all these years. Now that he had a chance to torment himself with it, the truth was that it had always been more than that. His snide comments and mocking flirtations hid a deep, aching longing for a genuine closeness they couldn’t quite achieve, their atoms buzzing along an invisible barrier neither of them were brave enough to cross. Steve always brushed it off. Of course he did, the guy let more slide off his back than a raincoat in Seattle. Amid it all, though, Tony would have sworn that there was a question in his eyes. It was a question Steve would never ask and Tony would never answer. Instead, they sparred, they worked, they bickered, they laughed, and on one memorable occasion that Tony might rather forget, they cried.

Pepper brought him his coffee on the porch, just as he liked it. One of the two people in his life that ever gotten it just right. She sat down in the chair next to him. There was sadness in her eyes—there had been sadness in everyone’s eyes for years, now. Though it was nothing new, it still pulled at his heart. She sighed.

“Just call him, Tony.”

Tony pretended not to hear her, letting his eyes fall on the mug cupped in his hands. She sighed again. He hadn’t asked for this, but neither had she.

Weeks fell away, turned into months. Turns out, Tony wouldn’t have to make that call after all.

**********

Steve stood at the edge of the property, studying the cabin from a distance. This was stupid—he knew it was stupid.

He replayed the meeting from that morning. He’d joined a kind of grief counseling group. He did it because wanted to offer comfort. He’d suffered loss before. He though he’d known how to handle it, and maybe help others, too. Instead, he found himself having to confront the harsh reality of how this had all really affected him on a personal level.

“What’s your story, Captain?” A young woman named Penelope had posed him the question that morning. Two of her brothers and her wife had disappeared. “Who did you lose, in all this?”

Steve had been taken aback. It was rare that a question was directed his way. He was the one that typically asked them. “I’m sure you—you saw. A lot of the people I worked with were lost in the Snap. They were my family. They were all I really had.”

She nodded. “How are the rest of them doing?”

Steve paused. “Well—Agent Romanoff, she’s running what she can. She’s doing a hell of a job of it, keeping things going, though obviously things are a lot different now. Uh—Dr. Banner has his work. Thor, he’s had a lot on his plate lately, off in Norway. Barton—" He stopped there. He didn’t like to think about what Clint was doing. “Yeah. They’re managing how they—how they can.” He stopped there, feeling all eyes on him.

“What about Stark?” She pressed. There was something too intelligent in her eyes. Her sad, bright eyes. They reminded her of someone.

“We—” Steve coughed. “Well, we haven’t spoken. Since he got back things just, with everything that happened before—I just don’t think it’s…” His sentence fizzled out without an end in sight.

“You just don’t think it’s what?” She continued. “You don’t think he’d want to see you? Or talk to you?”

“Well, not that exactly—”

She shrugged. “We have to do things at our own pace. If I were in Mr. Stark’s position, though, I’d probably need the support of an old friend. It’s a different world, now. Maybe the things that happened in the past—they can stay there.” She looked at him intently, as if she was trying to imbue her words with more meaning than she was letting on. It worked. She dropped it and asked after another of the group member’s well-being. Steve didn’t speak for the rest of the meeting. After everyone started to trickle out, Steve remained seated. Penelope approached him, and he felt himself shrink away, even though she was slight enough that he could certainly have picked her up with one hand. There was something about the intensity of her stare, like she knew something he didn’t.

“Captain—” She started, and he interrupted her.

“Steve, please. I’m not much of a captain of anything anymore.” The self-deprecating words stung as he said them.

She nodded, understanding, and continued. “Steve. Will you let me tell you a story?”

Steve nodded, for some reason feeling apprehensive, and she pulled up a chair so she could sit in front of him. His face felt hot. She started again. “When I was in college, I met the most lovely man in the world. I thought he was the person I was going to spend the rest of my life with, and I was happy. I was so, gut-wrenchingly happy. Even after a few years, by graduation, I was still so in love with him.” She shook her head with a laugh, a genuine smile on her face as she looked down at the crossed hands on her lap. When she looked up, he was startled to find tears starting to run down her cheeks.

“Hey, you don’t—”

“Yes, I do,” she powered through his protest. “He was going to grad school. We had so many plans. Careers, a home, a dog. Maybe even little kiddos running around some day. I was so, so excited to start our life together.”

He braced himself, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She reached out and took his hands in hers. He let her. “He died in a car accident on the way to work one day. It was two months before we were going to get married. I even had the dress in my closet. He’d never get to see it.”

He felt himself getting choked up. The tears had dried on her cheeks. It wasn’t the first time this story had brought them there, and it wouldn’t be the last. “I carry him in my heart. Every day, I think of him. If I could change things—I would absolutely, do everything in my power, to save him. But—I can’t. You’ve mentioned that there was a woman before. You loved her deeply. She was the love of your life you said, yeah?”

Steve nodded, feeling wetness pricking at his eyelashes. He breathed deeply through his nose, the courage to meet those intense eyes lost.

“And she lived a happy life, yeah?” He nodded again. “Just—not the way you would have had it, if you could change things?” He didn’t bother that time. She knew she was right.

“That’s selfish, Steve.” His eyes shot up to meet hers, surprised. There was an aching kindness in them, now. “We are given a choice. People get taken away from us, or we get taken away from them. We can choose to linger on it, we can wish and hope and pray to a benevolent deity to find a way to change things, or we can do what they would have wanted us to do, and what we would have wanted of them.” She drew her hand back and used her thumb to play with the ring on her left hand. “Anna—she’s the love of this life. The one that began when Eric died. She’s brilliant, and kind, and funny. The woman I was before—she went in the ground with her soulmate. Though I wish things hadn’t—though I wish with my whole heart he was still here, I would have never met Anna. And Anna brings things out in me that I didn’t know existed, and that’s something I’m endlessly grateful for. Another chance at love, at happiness, at a life. I know—I know you tell us to move on, that we have to keep pushing, all of that soldier bullshit—” He choked out a laugh at that. She sighed, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I’m not sure I’ll get a third chance. I’m not sure I want a third chance. But what I see here, is you, squandering your second one.”

“What are you trying to say?” He bristled, knowing but needing to hear it.

Penelope smiled in earnest, then. “What I’m saying is that we don’t find love when or where we expected. Who you were—that man isn’t the man you are today. They don’t want the same things, and that’s okay. There are no rules to this fuckery, excuse the language. That’s more true now than ever. I could be reading it wrong, but I don’t think I am.”

She raised her eyebrows in a half-question. Steve grimaced. She seemed to accept it as a confirmation. “Admittedly, I only have the media persona to go by, but I can’t imagine Stark is good at—well, any of this. Very few of us are. You’re both still here. Take it as a sign, if you want, if you believe in that sort of thing. But what I _can_ tell is that you need each other—you need him as much as he needs you. I could tell in the half-assed excuses you were throwing as an explanation as to why you haven’t talked. Not to mention that nasty blush,” she teased, and Steve replicated it in real-time. “It might be selfish of me to say so, but unless you two find some way to reconcile, there’s not a chance in hell the world will be able to resolve this. Even if it never does—wouldn’t you like to say you tried? Together?”

Steve just stared at her. Together. _You said we’ll do that together._ The word had become something of a trigger to him. “You don’t understand—the things I’ve done—to _hurt_ him—”

She just shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. However you’ve hurt him—avoiding it will only make it worse.”

He felt like laughing from the sheer absurdity of it all. “How did you—you just—damn, Penelope.” He raked his fingers through his hair. A nervous habit.

“Language, Captain,” she said with a smirk. “Also—you can call me Peggy.”

His heart lept. “I can—call you _what?_ ”

She looked at him, confused. “Penny. You can call me Penny.”

“Oh. Yeah. Of course,” he said, shaking his head as if waking out of a dream. “Penny. Thank you.”

“Anytime. Just remember to invite me to the wedding when it works out, okay? I’m sure it’ll be quite the event.”

He scoffed, but his heart leapt into his throat. There was no use combating her words. His guard was down, it was all on the table, and he was helpless to backtrack. _What the hell is my life now?_ “Guest of honor, on my life.”

She stood. “Well, gotta get home to the little one. She always gives the sitter a tough time when she wakes up from her nap. Just like her mother, that one.” She smiled, a sad thing. “I miss her like hell, Steve. Don’t fuck this up.” He offered her a salute and she laughed. “If I’m being honest, Thor was always my favorite. Captain America is growing on me, though. You have my number. Call if you need anything.”

He nodded, and as she started to walk away he grabbed her and pulled her into a hug. “Thank you. I can’t express—”

“You don’t have to,” she said into his chest with a squeeze.

And that’s why he was on the edge of this surprisingly rural property, looking with a painful longing at the cabin where Tony Stark had basically gone into hiding for the past few years. Had it really been that long? His soul nearly left his body when the front door opened and the man in question stepped out in a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, a familiar mug clutched in one of his hands. He sat in one of the chairs and stared out over the water, completely oblivious, as Steve stared at him. Or—so he thought.

After a few minutes, without even turning to look in his direction, he heard Tony call, “Are you going to hide in the trees all afternoon like the world’s blondest bigfoot or confront me like a man, Cap?”

**********

Tony saw Steve finally trudge up the steps out of the corner of his eye after far longer than it should have taken a super soldier to make the distance. He didn’t look at him. His heart was about to beat out of his chest, but he didn’t look. He couldn’t.

“Looks like your attitude hasn’t changed, at least,” Steve muttered, arms crossed, as he leaned against the railing, slightly to the left of Tony’s view of the lake. Tony didn’t know what to feel. He was angry. So angry, in fact, that he thought he might even have the potential of shattering the ceramic of his coffee cup, which he decided to place on the table next to him. He immediately wished he hadn’t done that because now he didn’t have anywhere to put his hands. He settled for clutching the arms of the chair he was sitting in and was sure that Steve would notice his white-knuckled grip.

“Been saving it up just for you,” Tony dragged his eyes to Steve’s face, and he could tell Steve internally shrank away from the look, even if his body was as rigid as it had ever been.

“Is Pepper here?” Steve asked, tentative. He looked at the door, then back at Tony.

“It just so happens that she has a slew of meetings in the city this week and won’t be back until Sunday,” Tony spat. “So, to what do I owe the absolute pleasure of having you show up on my doorstep, unannounced, after years of radio silence, as I’m trying so valiantly to mind my own business?”

Steve seemed to chew over his words for a moment. “I need to talk to you. About—about something.”

He seemed scared. Nervous. Like a frightened bird. His chest was rising and falling in a too-quick rhythm that was unfamiliar. Tony’s resolve faltered, then he found it again as another hot wave of resentment washed over him. “You—you want to talk to me. About _what_ , Cap?” He felt every word he had wanted to say to Steve over the past few years rising up, threatening to drown them both. “How—how dare you, honestly. The audacity. I didn’t know you had it in you, buddy.” He punctuated the sentence with a crueler-than-intended laugh. He crossed his arms, closing himself off, and leaned back in his chair. “You think you can just—just show _up_ here—after—how long? And just—what the fuck do you want out of this? Do you have an endgame?”

“I’m sorry.” Steve just looked at him, with those stupid soft blue eyes and a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You’re _sorry?_ ” Tony’s mouth honest-to-god dropped open for a second. He stood and stalked over to him. “You’re fucking _sorry?_ How fucking dare you.” He pushed him. Steve’s ass caught the rail and he grabbed it to steady himself. Tony shouldn’t have been able to push him that easily but he was too furious to linger on that.

“I just—maybe this was a mistake—but I just—”

“Oh, now it’s a mistake?” He said, breathless. He felt like he was going to pass out. He was scrabbling to hold onto a tangible thought, a feeling, any feeling, other than the reluctant relief that was threatening to overcome him and make it too easy for Steve to waltz back into his life.

“I don’t know what—I don’t know what you want from me,” Steve said.

“I want—” Tony shook his head. He tucked his hands into his armpits, worried he might punch him. Not worried because he might hurt Steve, but worried because Tony knew he wouldn’t stand a chance if Steve decided to fight back. “I don’t know. What I didn’t want was—was this.” He made a frantic gesture between them.

Steve’s face seemed to crumple at that. “That’s—that’s okay. I didn’t expect—okay.”

Tony felt his stomach churn as Steve tried to brush past him. Did he think he meant— _no._ He backtracked and stepped in front of him. “You—you’re misunderstanding me. Again.”

“No—no I think I hear you loud and clear, Tony—”

Tony held a finger up with an aggression he hadn’t intended. “Pshhht! Uh-uh, stop! I’m talking. Let me—let me talk, before I can’t.”

“That would be a first,” Steve said. Tony popped the hysterical bubble of laughter rising in his chest.

“What I mean is—is this. Right here. Having to have this—this conversation at all. I never—I just— _fuck_ , Steve. You make it so hard to hate you. And trust me, I’ve been trying. I never wanted years of—of silence. Of avoidance. I wished you were there. Not because I thought if you were we would win, but so I wouldn’t have had to be…alone.” Tony shook his head. “I mean, I wasn’t alone, Nebula was there but she’s kind of a sociopath and not much of a conversationalist but—no. That’s just. I just. No matter how much the shit with—with Barnes, with Siberia hurt, how much I wished it didn’t have to be like that—after thinking—I understand. I don’t like it, I think it was shitty, and I’m still mad. But it’s hard to stop being mad, to get over that, when you were just— _gone_ , Steve.”

Steve looked down at his booted feet. Tony was reminded of their conversation in that dark conference room, years ago. When they were both different. The world was different. “You could have called.”

“You wanna hear something stupid?” He took Steve’s silence as a confirmation, but didn’t think he could stop if he tried. “I carried around that phone the whole damn time. Since the day you sent it to me, I carried it. Just in case the world needed you.”

“I didn’t give it to you to let me know if the world needed me.” Steve looked up. Tony was frightened to see how much older he looked—maybe not in body, but in spirit. His jaw was set. He was angry too, though Tony would have bet money it was directed more at himself than anyone. “I gave it to you so you could call me if _you_ needed me.”

“That’s the thing, Cap,” Tony said. “I always needed you.”

Tony realized he was shaking like a leaf. He wrapped one hand around the railing of the porch to steady himself. He was trying to find his breath. He felt dizzy. Too much, too much at once. He hadn’t eaten yet. The coffee was churning in his stomach. He swiped a clammy hand across his forehead, where a few hairs were plastered to a thin sheen of perspiration. The claws of his old anxiety raked themselves down every nerve of his body with a new ferocity.

He felt a hand on his back and a calming sensation seemed to radiate from the contact point outward, like a shockwave. Steve’s hand moved past his shoulder, to his neck. The gentle touch seemed to be a question—every question that had never been asked and thus never answered between them. Tony turned to face him again, and Steve’s hand moved to his face. He traced his thumb across Tony’s cheekbone, just the ghost of a touch. Tony leaned into it without thinking, his eyes fluttering shut. He reached his own hand up and placed it over Steve’s. “I don’t forgive you. Not right now. But I want to—I’ll try.”

“I know. That’s more than enough,” Steve said, his voice roughened with the shadow of both grief and hope. He leaned his forehead against Tony’s, surprisingly cool against Tony’s own flushed skin. He hovered there, breath steady. He placed his other hand, hesitant, at Tony’s hip.

He was letting Tony make the choice in where they were going to take this. So much had been out of his control these past few years—choices he’d made that really weren’t choices at all, just backed into a corner with no option but to fight his way out. Tony hoped Steve realized that once they went there, once they did this, there was no going back, at least for him. He hoped he meant the question, _really_ meant it, because Tony intended to throw every inch of himself and more into the answer.

Tony grabbed Steve’s hips and pulled him in, closing the space between them with an ungentle intensity. He moved one hand to the back of Steve’s head and pulled him in for a kiss, feeling Steve’s breath hitch as he made contact. He felt surprise and relief coming off the bigger man in waves. Steve made an _mmph_ noise as Tony’s tongue darted out. It was as if Tony flipped a switch. Steve started moving against him with a desperation that Tony matched, touch for touch. _Repression was a bitch._

“We still have things to talk about, years of it,” Tony muttered against the skin of Steve’s jaw. Steve nodded and squeezed Tony’s side in confirmation, and then his hand was moving frantically up his back, seeking a satisfying hold. His other hand was tangled in Tony’s hair, pulling almost too tightly, and Tony gasped. Steve grumbled what could have been an apology, but Tony didn’t care. He was too high off the smell of freshly washed cotton and aftershave. His hands were roaming up Steve’s chest, over his shoulders, around his biceps. Steve reached his hands around Tony’s ass and lifted him up to place him on the porch railing. Tony nearly groaned as Steve slotted his hips between his legs. Tony pulled Steve’s hair and he momentarily dropped his head back with it, giving Tony space to move down his neck.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Steve whipped his head around at the question, but his hands tightened around Tony’s waist possessively. Pepper stood, arms crossed, in the doorway. She was dressed in a sharp pantsuit and her hair was pulled back. Steve’s moderate blush turned severe. He looked back at Tony, pupils still blown. He looked horrified. Tony couldn’t help but laugh. She didn’t look surprised. In fact, if anything, she looked smug. 

“I thought you might hold back if I told you Pep hadn’t left yet. I technically didn’t lie, she _will_ be back on Sunday,” Tony said, attempting to look at innocent as possible.

Pepper just shook her head. “It’s a pleasure to see you, Steve. You look well.”

Steve’s hair was a ruffled mess and his shirt was hiked up above his hips. Tony must have untucked it at some point. He let go of Tony as if he’d been electrocuted and pulled it down and tried to straighten his hair. Tony huffed at the loss of contact and hopped down off the railing, trying to straighten his own. “You—ah, you too, Ms. Potts,” Steve managed to stammer out. Tony just grinned. He sauntered over to Pepper and pecked her on the cheek.

“Safe travels, Ms. Potts,” he said, mocking Steve’s formal address. She nodded professionally, though there was the ghost of a smile on her lips. He loved her.

“Be good,” she said, and glanced between him and Steve. Steve looked like he’d been caught masturbating by his grandmother. She went back inside and a car pulled out of the garage a short minute later.

“You—” Steve closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He huffed out a small laugh. “You’re an ass.”

“ _Your_ ass, now,” Tony shrugged, taking a sip from his momentarily forgotten mug of coffee. Steve smiled at that.

“Yeah. I guess.”


	2. Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourself. Smut is coming.

Steve had never really been in a relationship before.

They weren’t calling it that, exactly, but that’s what it was. They hadn’t discussed the terminology. They didn’t need to. They were just Steve and Tony, with a few extra things thrown in. The intimacy was the most foreign part. Steve could quite literally count on one hand the number of people he’d ever kissed, and the number of times he’d done it. Now it was all the time.

Tony gave him his shield back. He’d kept it in the trunk of his car. He didn’t know how long it had been there and he didn’t ask. Steve had missed it—that connection to his past, and the present he’d come to know. It settled back into the crook of his arm just as easily as it always did. Somehow, it still felt different. It meant something different. Tony had said, “He’d want you to have it.” Howard would have wanted him to have it.

They weren’t as busy as they used to be when they were around each other. He figured, possibly, if they’d had more downtime back in the heyday of the Avengers, they might have slipped into the rhythm they’d found much, much sooner, and things would have turned out a lot different. He could almost imagine tiptoeing around their colleagues. Sneaking upstairs on late nights. Dragging Tony away from his work to do more than just toss him in bed and shut the door behind him. Stolen kisses in the kitchen. Being found out and Thor clapping them heartily on the backs and shouting, “Friends! Congratulations are in order! Ale all around!” He would hustle over to the sound system to play some needlessly graphic song about naughty things that made Steve blush that Clint had loaded onto his phone as Bruce looked on in startled confusion and Natasha just smirked, because of course she’d be the first to have caught on and it would have happened weeks before. They would get drunk—everyone except Steve and Bruce, maybe. Tony would plant sloppy kisses on Steve’s face and Clint would make gagging noises but be smiling anyway. Thor would tell them, as the Midgardians say, to “get a room”. They would have J.A.R.V.I.S. throw on some party lights, in a time when J.A.R.V.I.S. was but an AI and not another sentient being that they’d failed to protect. He wished they could have found that happiness then—when laughter and comradery wasn’t of short supply, before their ranks had been broken and grief was more than just a five letter word. They were things that could have been but never were. He tried not to think about it too much. There was no use lingering on it. What mattered was this, what they had now, what almost wasn’t. Better late than never at all.

Pepper and Happy were dating now, so she was gone a lot of the time. They all had dinner together occasionally. Steve thought that was nice. They were good together. He was kind, and easy. He was sure Pepper liked that. Steve slowly but deliberately started moving in. After the first night they spent together, Tony had simply told him he could stay, and so he did.

Tony talked about Peter sometimes. There was a framed photo of the two of them in the kitchen. Steve had caught him looking at it every so often, a faint, sentimental expression of both love and loss in the lines of his face. Steve thought Peter might be the closest thing Tony would ever have to a child of his own. Steve had never thought Tony would be the paternal type, but why not? He’d never done anything halfway in his life. When he hated, he hated. When he was angry, he was angry. When he was happy, it shone out of his face like diamonds. When he was inventing, he _invented_ , so why would Tony’s love be any different?

There were nightmares. One time, Tony had nearly punched Steve in the face as he hovered over him, trying to console him through one of his 3AM fits. Tony looked terrified of him, and it had hurt. Tony didn’t have to tell him what the dream was about. He could feel the frigid air of the memory himself. “I know it’s not you, but it is. It is, and it isn’t.” Steve understood. He just held him there. Stroked his hair with feathered touches until he dozed back off. Each day, their walls broke down a little more.

Rhodes called a few weeks after Steve moved in. Tony answered the call as they were sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast. Steve was shirtless. “Hey, Tony, just wanted to—” Rhodes had locked eyes with a flustered Steve and fallen so still, it seemed as if the holographic image had just frozen. “Is that—no. No. Tony. What are you—?”

Tony silenced the call and carried his phone down to his lab. He came back upstairs after the call was over, looking frazzled. Both of their breakfasts had gotten cold. Steve no longer felt hungry. Tony poured another cup of coffee and let out a weary sigh. “His last impression of you isn’t exactly a positive one. He’ll come around.”

“I understand if he can’t,” Steve said. When he’d heard about what happened to Rhodes in the midst of the fighting all those years ago, the guilt had been heavy.

A fierce light burned in Tony’s eyes. “We’ve all made mistakes. People get hurt in the crossfire. It was as much my responsibility to prevent something like that happening as it was yours.”

Tony sat back down next to him and kissed him on the cheek. Steve leaned into it and grabbed one of his hands, tracing his knuckles with his thumb. “I was supposed to be better.”

Tony looked down at their hands. “Weren’t we all?”

The first time they’d made love, it felt as if they were both afraid of breaking the other. It seemed silly for Tony to treat him like that. It took a lot to hurt him. “Is this—ah—is this okay?” Tony asked, more than once, his thrusts slow and tentative and almost painfully restrained. Steve nodded, clutching at his back. “You’re so beautiful,” Tony said, his voice soft and his breath warm against Steve’s neck. Tony was more tender than Steve had anticipated. He was nervous. Steve couldn’t find any words, but Tony had more than enough to make up for it. He hummed against Tony’s lips and hoped it was enough. Tony found _that spot_ and, after a few strokes, had Steve gasping through his orgasm, grunting a semblance of Tony’s name. Tony finished not long after, murmuring all sorts of filthy things that Steve actually didn’t mind so much even if he wasn’t ready to dish it back, both of them a raw bundle of nerves as they buzzed with the euphoria of it all.

“Thank you,” Steve whispered and was surprised to find Tony blushing in the soft glow of the lamp on the bedside table. That was typically his job.

“Anytime, Captain. Just say the word,” Tony said with a salute. Steve laughed and threw a pillow over his face. They laughed, sometimes. Not as often as they used to, but they were healing, and they were doing it together.

**********

Tony was working in his lab on his most recent project—a kind of earthquake absorption mechanism (Stark Industries was becoming the leading company for disaster relief, believe it or not)—when Steve popped down with a grilled cheese. He hadn’t eaten anything all day, which wasn’t out of the norm, but Steve still didn’t like it. Steve placed the sandwich next to him, dropped a light kiss on the top of his head, murmured, “I love you,” and turned back up the stairs.

“Thank—” Tony started, then whipped around, his focus broken. His heart seemed to drop right out of his chest, and Tony had a better idea of what that felt like than most. “Wait, what did you say?”

Steve froze by the stairs, looking like a deer in headlights. “I said I love you.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Tony said in a small voice. He was overwhelmed with equal parts fear, disbelief, and an aching affection. His hands felt numb. He wondered for a brief moment if he was finally having a stroke after the years of substance abuse that were (mostly) behind him. “You do?”

Steve just blinked at him. “Yeah.”

“Hmph,” Tony grunted. He shrugged. “I love you, too.”

Steve nodded with a small smile. He went back upstairs and Tony watched him go. He turned back to his work, but had a little trouble focusing for the rest of the afternoon. He wondered what the little boy he was, the one with the absent father and a vintage Captain America poster on the wall, would think of _that_.

That evening, Tony kissed Steve with a fervency that was smothering. He pressed him against the kitchen counter next to the pot of water Steve had started boiling for some kind of pasta with every ounce of strength he had, wanting to do nothing short of crawl inside him. They broke apart, gasping for air. Steve spun them around and pinned him there, caging Tony with his heavily muscled arms. “What’s this about?”

“Just lovin’ you, that’s all,” Tony crooned, batting his eyes dramatically and rutting against him. Steve was already hard. Steve rolled his eyes, a gesture that was incredibly foreign on his face. Tony gasped, only half sarcastic. “Did you just _roll your eyes_ at me? I think I’m getting choked up, you have learned something from me!”

“I think I’ve learned more than just that,” Steve said, the lascivious note in his voice sending Tony’s blood rushing everywhere but his brain. Steve cupped him through his jeans and Tony’s breath caught, almost as much from the retort as the physical contact. Tony felt himself go weak in the knees as Steve set to work on his neck, marking him like a teenager.

“Ah—what’re you— _fuck_ , Steve,” Tony groaned. Steve pulled back and looked at him and Tony cried out at the loss of contact.

“I like when you call me that,” he said, his voice dripping with quiet affection.

Tony gave him a puzzled look. “Call you what? Your _name_?”

Steve blushed, far too innocent of a look for a man that a giant, raging boner pressed up against Tony’s own. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure for the first few years you exclusively called me _Cap_ or _Rogers_. It’s just nice.”

Tony snorted. “If that’s all I had to do to get you to fall into bed with me, you shoulda said so earlier.”

“Sorry,” Steve murmured without much enthusiasm, hands seeking purchase on Tony’s ass. He lifted him up onto the counter and reached over to flip the burner on the stove off. They resumed their ministrations and Tony slipped into his dirty talking like a second skin.

“God, you’re so good, Steve. Come on, let me see you, I’ll never get sick of it, Steve. You’re so goddamn _sexy_ , how could I?” Tony said, tugging at Steve’s shirt, and he complied, revealing an expanse of smooth, muscled skin that made Tony melt every time. “Want you in me. That thick cock just fucking me into the mattress until I can’t think straight. Just turn my brain off, Steve, you’re so good at that.”

“Okay,” Steve said, picking him up with the ease of a parent lifting a child. It would have been emasculating if Tony gave a single damn about that kind of thing. They kissed as he walked them into the bedroom down the hall. “Whatever you want, Tony.”

Tony’s insides went liquid. “We’ve never done it like that before, you want to?”

Steve’s voice deepened. It sent shivers up Tony’s spine. “Fuck you into the mattress? Why wouldn’t I?”

Tony could count on one hand the number of curse words he’d heard come out of that pretty mouth of Steve’s, even including their bouts in the bedroom. Tony latched onto it like a life preserver. “Oh, that was filthy. That’s the shit that dreams are made of, Steve. Say it again.”

Steve’s hair was mussed and his face was starting to flush. His eyes were glassy with arousal. Tony had to admit it was a good look on him. He set to work on Tony’s belt. “Wanna fuck you into the mattress.” Steve practically growled it.

Tony groaned, ready to cum in his pants. He was thrown but not shocked by what the words did to him. It _was_ something he’d imagined, but actually hearing it was another matter altogether. “Okay, okay. That’s just not fair. The things you do to me.”

“The things I’m gonna do to you,” Steve said, making quick work of his jeans. Tony threw an arm over his face.

“Holy shit, Steve,” he said. He was practically panting as Steve rubbed past his dick on the way to the band of his underwear. They’d _never_ done it like this. Not with Steve—well, talking. Tony always, _always_ made sure it was okay. Steve wanted it, and liked it. He participated in his own quiet way, and it was wonderful. But with the inexperience, Steve was still coming into it, finding his way, feeling it out. Tony understood that, and was more than happy to stick to doing whatever Steve was comfortable with. Confident Steve—the Steve he’d seen on the battlefield, time and time again—hadn’t been a presence in their sex life, until now, and he thanked whatever god there was or wasn’t for it. He wasn’t going to last long, he could already feel it. Tony tugged his own shirt over his head and then grabbed at the waistband of Steve’s sweats. Steve snatched him by the wrist and pinned it to the bed. Tony honest-to-god whimpered. His eyes were hungry and he wanted to see Steve naked so bad it hurt.

“We’re doing this on my terms,” Steve said, the command falling on ears nearly deafened by Tony’s own heartbeat. Tony managed a quick nod. Steve went down on him, and Tony cried out as the flat of his tongue swiped the head of his dick. He took him in in one deep swallow, and Tony couldn’t breath. He thrust up instinctively and the hand that wasn’t pinning Tony’s to the bed flew to his hip, holding him still with a bruising intensity. The masochistic pain of it made Tony’s dick throb. He was a split-second from flying over the edge of his climax with breakneck speed and a medley of creative swears when Steve drew back with a dirty _pop_. Steve grabbed the base of his dick, releasing Tony’s wrist, and squeezed. Tony felt a prickle of involuntary annoyance and pushed it aside.

Steve pushed down his sweats and underwear with them, kicking them off onto the floor. He pumped Tony a few times and Tony was truly about to burst. Tony clawed across the bed to reach the bedside table with a desperation that was typically unlike him but Steve swatted him away and grabbed the lube out of the drawer himself. He slicked up a few fingers and set to work. He kissed Tony, who could barely even focus on kissing him back, as he inserted one finger at a painfully slow pace. Tony tried to push his hip down to meet him but it just wasn’t enough. “Beg.”

It was as if Steve opened the floodgates. Tony was babbling almost incoherently as he tossed on the bed. “Please, Steve. Please, I need more, please. Steve.” He inserted another finger, and it was as if he was consciously avoiding Tony’s prostate. Tony was wriggling his hips like a fish out of water, desperate for the right contact. Steve added another finger and curled them unforgivingly. Tony muffled a shout. “Fuck me, oh god fuck me. Holy fuck.” He felt himself flush in embarrassment. He had never really begged. Not like that. Goddamn, did Steve do things to him. And he liked it.

Steve pressed a hand against his stomach, steadying him. He pumped his fingers in and out, every few thrusts hitting him in just the right spot. Had anything ever felt so good? Steve had a look of total and complete concentration. It was driving Tony mad. “You’re trying to kill me, god, that was the plan all along.”

“I would never hurt you,” Steve said, kissing him too softly in comparison to the steady finger-fuck his hand was dishing. Tony clutched at the back of his neck and deepened it, turning it wet, into tongue and teeth and not much else. Tony knew that wasn’t true—he had hurt him. But he thought, hoped at least, that he never would again. Tony reached between Steve’s legs and started stroking him, and Steve moaned into the kiss, hips thrusting the slightest bit. Steve moved Tony’s hands out of the way and slicked himself up with more lube. He centered himself over Tony and gave him one more kiss. “Turn over.”

Tony accidentally kneed Steve in the ribs as he scrabbled to turn over as quick as possible and Steve let out a noise between a laugh and a grunt. Steve rubbed his hand over Tony’s neck and shoulder blades. Tony was trembling with anticipation. He suddenly felt so empty it hurt. “Please.”

Steve rubbed his hands over Tony’s ass and spread him. Tony could feel Steve holding him there, looking at him, and he felt more naked than ever. Steve hummed appreciatively then pressed in in one long, slow stroke. Tony saw stars as Steve’s dick slid across his prostate. He let out another un-Tony-Stark-like whimper. It must have triggered Steve, because he started pounding into Tony like his life depended on it—long, steady thrusts. Tony felt Steve’s chest against his back, hot and solid. He had one hand wrapped underneath Tony’s stomach, holding him in place. He curled the other around Tony’s hand, a gesture so loaded with sentiment Tony felt tears pricking at his eyes. He felt vulnerable, like he was falling, far and fast, but with the knowledge someone would catch him. Steve was murmuring something against his hair. “Love you, I love you, Tony—ah, so good—all for me—” Steve groaned as Tony tightened around him, pushing back in as steady of a rhythm as he could find while his nerves were on fire.

“Fuck, oh fuck Steve, I’m gonna—” Tony sobbed as he felt the wave rush him, his insides taking off like an arrow. He saw white as he came, stroking himself, spilling onto the sheets beneath them. He was supercharged, vibrating. Steve wrapped a strong arm around Tony’s neck and shoulders as he pounded into him a few more times, each increasingly frantic thrust feeling like a shock, holding him in place. Steve stiffened against him, uttering a sound that was dangerous and raw as he came, a sound that Tony wished he could wrap up like a present and gift himself over and over again. Tony felt the rush of heat inside of him as Steve trembled against his back. They stayed like that for a moment, chests heaving, nothing but the sounds of their breathing to keep them company. Steve pulled out and Tony muffled his cry in his pillow at the loss of pressure. Steve tugged lightly at his shoulder, silently urging him to turn over. Steve kissed him like Tony imagined he would a date after junior prom—gentle. He cupped his face in one big hand for a second, then stood to grab a towel. He returned seconds later and started wiping them both down. Tony was coming to terms with the fact that he would probably never be able to move again, but that was okay because any sensation his body would ever feel had peaked. Steve dropped the towel in the laundry basket and grabbed a change of sheets from the linen closet. Steve tried to urge him out of the bed to no avail.

“No—sorry. Can’t move. Never again, probably. But that’s okay. I’ve lived a good life, tell Pepper I love her.”

Steve snorted. It was a sound Tony was coming to adore. Once sensation began returning to his legs, he rolled out of the bed and Steve set to work changing the sheets—quickly and efficiently, no doubt a remnant of his days as a soldier. Tony flopped back down, but Steve stayed standing. In fact, he was putting his sweats back on. Tony felt positively victimized at the disappearing expanses of skin. “Hey, no. What are you doing?”

“In case you can’t recall, I was attempting to start dinner before you kindly interrupted. I’m starving, even more so now. And if I recall, all you’ve had to eat in the past fourteen hours is about eight cups of coffee and a grilled cheese, and I didn’t even check to see if you’d eaten that.” Tony looked at Steve, feeling guilty. He had not finished that so-lovingly made grilled cheese.

“Well, no one said you had to wear pants to make dinner,” Tony said, curving his mouth into a pout. Steve just shook his head, but he was smiling. Tony felt warm. This was them. This felt normal. The quips, the jokes, the chemistry. It came easily some days, and other days it was harder to find—that precarious rhythm that felt like it was teetering on the edge of disaster. Their relationship was something utterly unique and challenging, like most parts of either of their lives has been. It was a species of its own that needed to be protected, and nurtured, and studied. It had a volatile nature with a questionable past, but it was something beautiful, and important, and something they would both go to the ends of the earth, and beyond, to protect.

**********

Weeks fell away. Pepper moved out and in with Happy. As Tony and Steve helped her with her last few bags, he could hear in thickness of Tony’s voice as they said their goodbyes that he would be locking himself in his lab for the rest of the evening, which was okay. Steve would be down in the middle of the night to check on him, bring him a snack, the usual rodeo. Steve gave her a hug then went back inside, leaving them to say what they needed to say to each other without oppressing company. He glanced at them from inside. She was laughing at something Tony said and he was grinning that cheeky grin of his. She nodded, wiping below her eyes, and drew him into a hug. Steve smiled.

He knew they were still close. She’d been there for him through so much of his life—through the most important parts of his life. He was grateful that Tony had her. As she’d told him once, she was grateful Tony had Steve, too. Pepper had sighed over her laptop at him. Tony was downstairs working and Steve was at the kitchen table, drawing. Drawing Pepper, to be exact. “You just—get him. You can handle him in a way I never could.”

“I don’t know if that’s entirely true,” Steve shrugged, feeling almost embarrassed.

“No—it’s true. I love him, I’ve always loved him, and wanted to be with him from nearly the very beginning. Excuse me for saying so. But there’s that side of him—the _hero_ side, I guess. It scares me. Like—any day he might not come back. And I know that’s not—you don’t really do that anymore. But the hurt still stayed, you know?” Steve nodded. He did understand. “I hurt him, too. We both have. But I think that’s what makes it work with you two. You’ve understood what that means for a long time, putting everything on the line. He needs that. A rock. And someone to—to tell him it’s okay. Not someone to hold him back. The world needs him, and it’ll need him again. I just can’t be left there, waiting, when that happens.”

She fell silent and continued on her work. Steve finished his drawing, tore it out of his sketchbook, and laid it next to her on the table. She looked at it, then looked up at him. “Oh, this is beautiful.”

“Thanks,” he said. He thought she meant it.

Tony came back inside, sulking. Steve didn’t ask and Tony didn’t tell him. He graciously accepted the already finely-tuned cup of coffee that was waiting for him on the counter and headed downstairs.

Months blew by, and they met at a restaurant for dinner. Pepper was positively glowing—there was a ring on her left hand. They’d found out about the engagement before it had even happened. Happy had come over for some drinks and told Tony what he was planning. Tony was positively overjoyed, to the point it was infectious. It might have been a slight overcompensation, but Happy seemed content with it. Steve believed at its heart it was genuine. “It’s like my kids grew up and got married!” Tony said, pouring them another round of scotch.

“That’s a weird thing to say when you’ve slept with one of us,” Happy said, grabbing his glass and swirling it appreciatively.

Tony pressed a finger against his lips and gave him a sloppy wink. “Shh, that was one time. I thought we were gonna keep it between us.”

They both devolved into a round of schoolboy giggles. Steve cracked a smile. He’d never spent much time with Happy, but he seemed like a good man—loyal, steadfast. He could be Pepper’s rock. Sure, he was still flying the plane, but he wasn’t the one diving headfirst into battle. Although he could never get drunk, Steve felt a bit buzzed by the end of the night, which meant that the other two men were absolutely plastered. Tony fell asleep with his head on Steve’s lap on the couch, while Happy was sprawled across the loveseat. Steve let himself doze off there, too.

At the dinner, Steve ordered a glass of wine, and Tony and Happy ordered scotch. Pepper stuck with water. Once the bread arrived, Pepper cleared her throat. “So, we have news.”

Happy was flushing around the collar. He nodded, looking at Tony. Pepper continued. “We’re expecting.”

Tony’s jaw dropped. “I thought—I thought you couldn’t…?” He managed to sputter.

“Yeah, me too,” Pepper said, her eyes glassy. She hand Happy were holding hands. Tony looked in positive disbelief, then remembered to close his mouth and force something like a smile.

“You—you’re going to be parents?” He said, his voice quiet. He had told Steve that they’d tried before, when they were together. Or at least had a few close calls. It never quite stuck, though.

Happy nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, Tony.”

“Well—that’s wonderful! Congratulations!” Steve interjected, sparing Tony a few precious seconds to get his thoughts together. “Boy or girl?”

“We’re going to wait,” Pepper said. “We want it to be a surprise.”

“Well that’s just silly,” Tony admonished, seeming to find his voice again. “Don’t you know you have to aggressively conform to certain gendered color standards before birth? And have a party with colored smoke or some other bullshit?”

Happy and Pepper both laughed. Pepper rolled her eyes, but her smile stayed. Steve would ask of the mechanics of that particular joke later and Tony would open the wonderful world of gender reveal parties to him. Steve would agree—it was bullshit.

The rest of the dinner was easy, but Tony was buzzing with an emotion that Steve couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was the energy of a timeline that wasn’t his.

On the way home, Steve asked the question. “Do you want kids?”

Tony was driving and swerved ever-so slightly. “What would give you that impression?”

Steve decided now wouldn’t be a good time to mention the kicked-puppy eyes Tony gave Peter’s picture every time he was the kitchen. He wanted them to make it home alive, at least. “Just wondering.” What really gave him that impression was the flash of sorrow in Tony’s eyes when Pepper had told them her news. Just a flash, but it had been there, and Steve’s mind had been kept busy with its possible roots for the past two hours.

Tony hummed. “Well, do _you_?”

For some reason, Steve hadn’t for one second considered that turn of events. He thought for a moment. “I used to.”

“Not anymore?” Tony asked. His face was stone.

Steve paused again, letting the jarring notes of Tony’s peculiar taste in music fill the space. “I don’t know.”

“Huh. Okay,” Tony said, and for the first time in the entirety of them knowing each other, didn’t press him for a straight answer.

They got home, and for once, they went straight to bed.

In the morning, before Tony woke up, Steve took a few laps around the lake. It was a beautiful place. As much as he’d liked running through the city, being away from it all held its charm. It was quiet, and every once in a while he’d even see a deer or two. When he got back, Tony was sitting at the kitchen table, working on his tablet. Without looking up, Tony spoke. “I think I do.”

Steve put his hands on his shoulders, leaned around him, and kissed him on the cheek. Steve halfway didn’t think Tony had even been talking to him, but he inquired after the comment anyway. “You do what?”

“You know,” Tony said, sparing him a short glance. “Want…kids. A kid. Maybe.”

Steve froze and straightened back up. “Oh.”

Tony shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. I just thought I’d tell you.”

“I mean—” Steve tried to find the words. “It _is_ a big deal. You know that, right?”

Tony sighed and the screen of his tablet went dark. He sounded defeated. “Yeah, I do. I just mean—it’s something I’ve thought about. I _want_ it, but I don’t _need_ it, I guess is what I’m trying to say.”

“You—how would we even—” Steve started, then found his position and settled into it. He sat down next to Tony and took one of his hands, tracing his knuckles with his thumb. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Tony said, his expression caught somewhere between hope and mortal terror. It was nearly comical. Steve nodded. It was something he hadn’t thought about in a long time—not since he woke up in the modern era, at least. It was true that it pulled at his heart when he saw fathers with little girls on their shoulders walking down the street, the kid pointing and grinning as if every moment hid another surprise. He adored the litany of children running around in their Thor helmets and giant foam Hulk hands at the meet and greets back in the day, clambering up to him on unsteady legs, their tired but glowing parents doing their best to corral them into some semblance of order. The wrinkled pictures, clutched by small, clumsy hands, that they drew for him, all bright colors and unsteady lines, with all the promises of bright futures ahead of them. He had thought, at least until yesterday, it was just something to be seen from a distance—like a piece of fine art, behind a thick piece of glass and held down under lock and key. He’d never call it his own, but he could admire it anyway. And then his _brain_ , on his morning run that was supposed to clear his mind but did the very opposite, started imagining all sorts of impossible things that maybe weren’t impossible at all. That made it harder. “Steve, honey. Say something.”

“Wanna get married?” Steve felt himself blurt out, his conscious being seeming to fly out of his body at the release of those words. He slapped a hand over his mouth.

“Did you just ask me if I want to get marinade? Like for steak? We can do steak for dinner, yeah that sounds good,” Tony babbled with a frantic energy, giving Steve the opportunity to take it back.

Steve took a deep breath, walked to the bedroom, dug through his sock drawer, and brought out a small, black velvet box. Tony said something about steak again, and although steak for dinner _did_ sound good, Steve knelt down next to Tony anyway. “No, no. I’m certain you were talking about marinade, because there’s no way a man that was born in 1918 just asked me to marry him at this kitchen table.”

“No, I asked you if you would _want_ to. Since you didn’t give me a straight answer and instead just seem to be very, very hungry, I’ll just have to ask you to marry me more directly. So, Mr. Anthony Stark—will you do me the great honor of becoming my husband?” Steve cracked open the box. It was a solid gold band with silver trim, inset with two stones—one red and one blue.

“ _Whatthefu_ —” Tony exhaled. He looked at Steve with wide eyes, and it seemed as if Tony was trying to confirm whether it was a joke or not. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

Steve pulled the ring out of the box, and Tony took it. He laughed. Steve prickled defensively for a moment, then Tony said, “Did you—our initials are in it?” He was admiring the inside of the band, now.

Steve was blushing up to his hairline, now. “Yeah.”

“That’s _really_ fucking thoughtful,” Tony murmured, slipping it onto his finger. He kissed Steve, then pulled away. “I have something for you, too.”

He stood and left Steve there, on his knees, and returned from the bedroom a moment later. He had a box of his own, one of blue velvet. He handed it to Steve. In it was another ring, more simple than the one Steve had gotten for Tony. Just a silver band with an intricate pattern framing the edges. For a horrifying moment he wondered if it was too much, but the way Tony was admiring his own ring settled that fear. They had different tastes, that was all. Steve plucked it out of the box. His heart skipped a beat. On the inside of the band was one word. “Together.”

Tony was the one blushing now. “I know that I’ve used that word against you. I just thought it might be, I don’t know, nice, to give it a different meaning again. Because we’re, you know, together. And I hope it stays that way.”

“Yeah,” Steve whispered, looking at the ring in reverence. “When were you going to give me this?”

Tony smirked. “I figured I’d let you make the first move, old man.” After a brief pause, he added, with a noticeable shudder, “Also, never call me Anthony again. It’s awful.”

“I can do that.”

**********

The day after the engagement, Tony realized with a start that neither he, nor Steve, had revealed any part of their relationship to Natasha, or any of the rest of their old crew beyond Rhodey, for that matter. Tony mentioned this fact to Steve and he choked on the root beer he was sipping. _God, who drinks root beer for fun?_

Tony hadn’t spoken to her in over a year now, and the guilt of that gnawed lightly at his gut as Steve dialed in. “Ready?” He asked.

“Never,” Tony replied, and that was the truth. Natasha picked up. Her hair had begun grown out, red roots clearly visible. _So she is a natural redhead,_ Tony couldn’t help but note, but he wouldn’t dare say it out loud. She looked _pissed_ —well, as pissed as Tony had ever seen her let on. She was damn good at keeping her expressions under control.

“Hey, Nat—” Steve started, and she interrupted him.

“How long?”

Steve shrank away from the holograph. “How long what?”

She blinked like they were the two dumbest people she’d ever met. Tony’s lips felt like they were glued shut. She just wave a finger between the two of them.

“A year, give or take,” Steve said, looking at Tony for confirmation. He nodded, a movement so slight he felt like he was in a Jurassic Park movie trying to keep the T-Rex from noticing him.

“A _year_?” She repeated, expression still fuming. “A fucking _year_? Unbelievable.”

They looked like guilty kids who’d been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“You know what’s the _most_ unbelievable?” She paused, waiting for them to take the bait. They didn’t. “That you thought Rhodes wouldn’t let it slip.”

Tony frowned. Yeah, that sounded about right. Rhodey and Natasha were still working closely, from what he’d gathered in their chats, and a snide comment was bound to slip out at some point. “And you weren’t going to call and congratulate us?”

Her eyes were piercing, even through the washed out colors of the holograph. “You barely have the right to speak to me.”

“Barely? Meaning a little?” Tony pinched his fingers, holding the slightest bit of space between them, trying to give her as charming of a grin as he was capable.

“We’re on the way. We’ll talk more.” She ended the call without fanfare.

“ _We_?” Steve asked, and Tony just groaned.

The Quinjet landed on the lawn with a shocking quickness, taking out a small tree on its way down. “That was my favorite tree,” Tony muttered, and Steve laughed. Natasha, Bruce/Hulk, and the Build-A-Bear exited the craft. Nebula was sulking on the ramp, arms crossed. She raised a hand in what could have been a wave. Steve returned it, a bit more enthusiastically. Tony just nodded in her direction. She’d seen him at what was arguably one of the most vulnerable points of his life. That still made him a little uncomfortable.

“Nebula and Rocket are Earthside for a couple days,” Natasha said, noting their expressions of confusion, and glanced down at the grumpy raccoon. She looked between Steve and Tony, then threw her arms around their necks in an uncharacteristic show of affection. They returned her embrace after getting over their initial surprise. Something about those deadly arms around his neck made Tony nervous. She pulled back, then the glint of the ring on Tony’s hand had caught her eye. “What the f— _no._ ”

Tony shoved his hands in his pockets in a defensive move, then pulled them out again. Without some kind of tablet or piece of technology in front of him, his hands felt antsy and he didn’t quite know what to do with them. “Yeah.”

Natasha sighed. She looked older, too. God, they’d all been through a lot. The stress had clearly been getting to her, but it seemed to wash away just a bit in their presence. “Well, congrats. Assholes. The both of you.”

Bruce stepped up next. It was unsettling seeing Hulk in a sweater, Bruce’s intelligent eyes peeking out of the green face. “Hey, guys.”

“Hey, big guy. Stuck like that now?” Tony asked patting him on the forearm in condolences.

Bruce shrugged. “No, I don’t think so. Just what I’m doing right now. Trying to meet in the middle and come to terms with it, I guess.” He paused, then snorted. “They’re calling me Professor Hulk now. Not sure how to feel about it.”

Tony laughed at that. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Professor.”

Bruce clapped him on the shoulder and though this version of Hulk was smaller, still nearly sent him sprawling. Bruce didn’t seem to regret it. “Congrats, guys.”

Steve and Tony said their thanks. Rocket was looking up at them with his arms crossed. Tony didn’t think he’d ever entirely stop being creeped out by him. “Congrats, fellas.” He cocked a…thumb? And pointed it at Steve, small, bright eyes staring pointedly at Tony. “Bet that one’s a beast in the sack.”

Steve sputtered and Tony nodded enthusiastically. “Damn right.” He might freak him out, I mean the laws of science just _weren’t there,_ but Rocket had already started winning him over. They fist bumped. “So, did you just pop in to say hi and scuff up my lawn, or were you planning to stay a while? We could order some takeout like—you know. The old days.” Tony tried to make it sound casual, but part of him was hopeful. They were a ragtag crew, new faces and missing some of the old, some of the old that were there different now. That didn’t mean it couldn’t work, even if it was just for the afternoon.

“As long as you’re buying,” Natasha said, brushing past him and making her way to the front door.

It did work. He’d caught Rocket trying to pocket more than one trinket he had laying around the house, the little rat even seemed to think he could get away with copping his tablet. It didn’t take much to get him tipsy since the thing weighed no more than sixty pounds. After that, he was a lot less focused on petty theft and a lot more focused on making Steve as uncomfortable as possible. Rocket’s speech was far raunchier than Tony’s on the average day. Tony wondered with brief amusement if getting a raccoon intentionally drunk could be considered a criminal offense. That was a damn smart raccoon, though, and coming from Tony that was saying a lot.

Natasha sat on the couch, half a glass of straight vodka in one hand. She had just gotten off the phone with Captain Marvel. What a woman, that one. Tony sat next to her. “Clint couldn’t make it?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Too busy slaughtering the Mexican cartel. I think he’s still there, anyway.” She tried to make it sound like she was brushing it off, but the hurt in her eyes was unmistakable.

“Thanks for coming to see us,” Tony said.

“Had to,” she said. “There’s no way in hell you’d ever make the first move, you stubborn dick.”

Tony chuckled. “I’ve been called worse, I suppose.”

“I knew it,” Natasha said, taking a sip of her glass rubbing alcohol. Tony could smell it from where he was sitting. Russians.

“Knew what?”

“You. And Steve.” She gestured towards Steve, who was attempting to talk to a still-sulking Nebula. Rocket and Bruce were playing a video game, Rocket uttering a stream of alien-sounding curses as Bruce beat him once again, big hands surprisingly nimble on the small controller. Empty boxes of Thai food were littered around the living room. It felt— _normal_ , of all things. “If only you could have seen how you looked at each other when the other wasn’t paying attention.”

Tony smiled sadly at that. “I wish—I dunno. Sometimes I think about what it could have been like if it had happened sooner. When everyone was around.”

Natasha nodded. She understood. He didn’t need to dive into it. “Things are…harder, now.”

“Yeah,” Tony hummed. “You know I don’t say shit like this, but I missed you.”

“Me neither, but me too.”

The visits weren’t common, but they turned into something Tony looked forward to. Rhodey even came to see them, sometimes. Tony even ventured out to the dusty headquarters every once in a while, updating them on the goings-on of Stark Industries. Natasha was a good leader. They were all rough around the edges, but they were his family—what he had left of it, anyway. 

Shit hit the fan in a multitude of ways when Scott Lang returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am an absolute slut for Rocket and Tony interacting. Hope y'all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. More to come, promise.


	3. In the Endgame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of this chapter is just going through the events of the final Avengers installation. Much of the action is the same, with a few twists, and more internal dialogue.

“I don’t even know if—if it’ll work, Steve. This is impossible. There isn’t any rhyme or reason to it, and so many thing could go wrong.” Tony was fuming, but Steve kept pushing him.

“What we’ve learned is we have a _chance_ , Tony!” Steve said, louder than he’d intended. “We can’t—we have to do _something._ And if anyone can, it’s you. We can’t do this without you.”

This was the twelfth argument they’d had about the whole mess. Tony stormed downstairs and locked the door behind him, cutting yet another shouting match short. _God_ , he hated when Tony did that. But if he didn’t, then he wouldn’t be Tony, and Steve still loved Tony. Steve shuffled around upstairs and tried to entertain himself. He went on a run. Anything to get his mind off of it—the hope. Natasha called him and told him to come to the compound, so he did. Part of him felt guilty for leaving him at the house along, but he still felt a thread of hope that Tony was down there working on it. Something. Anything.

When he got there, Bruce was getting started on their latest experiment. They’d lost all faith that Tony was going to come through for them. Bruce seemed confident, though. Steve watched on in interest that soon turned to horror as Lang returned as a child. Then an old man. Then a… _baby?_ Holy hell, they needed Tony to come through with something, despite Bruce happily declaring it as an “absolute win”. It was all beyond Steve’s comprehension.

Steve stepped outside, hands on his hips. He stared at his shoes. They were close, but not close enough. Then, the screeching of tires as Tony sped around the corner. He rolled down the window of the car, eyes hidden by his too-large sunglasses.

“Why the long face? Let me guess, he turned into a baby?” Tony asked, but wasn’t really asking.

How was he _always_ right?

Steve looked away, for a moment, taking a deep breath. “Among other things…yeah. What are you doing here?”

Tony had managed to craft a fully functioning space-time GPS. Steve looked at the device in momentary wonder. God, Tony was amazing. Their arguments seemed to fall away. Tony knew Steve had been right, but Tony hadn’t been wrong. It was dangerous, and new, and something utterly terrifying. They could get hurt. They could lose people. But if they could _reverse_ this? Every single one of them knew that whatever sacrifice—it would be worth it. On their way into the building, Rocket and Nebula landed. After Lang’s failed attempt at a compliment, they overheard Nebula mutter into her communicator, “Rhodey, careful on re-entry. There’s an idiot in the landing zone.”

Tony glanced at Steve, grinning. “I like her.” Steve held the door open for her as she stormed past.

Tony set to work immediately, getting what Steve called a time machine and Tony called something with a lot more syllables, ready. Steve helped where he could, which wasn’t much. He seemed to just be getting in Tony and, god help him, _Rocket’s_ way. Instead, he busied himself on creating a plan for the acquisition of the stones, or as they would come to lovingly refer to it as, the Time Heist.

Tony and Steve headed the meeting. He felt electric with the nostalgia of it all.

After the disastrous attempt at trying to get a hungover, or perhaps still drunk, Thor to stay on task, Rocket took the floor—well, table. Lang piped up when Rocket mentioned the planet that housed the Power Stone.

“Like—like a planet? Like in outer space?”

“Aww, look! It’s like a little puppy, all happy and everything,” Rocket ruffled Lang’s hair, then flicked at him, dropping his tone to a baby voice. “Do you wanna go to space? You wanna go to space puppy? I’ll take you to space.” Scott became increasingly focused on the food before him while Natasha and Tony just barely managed to control their peals of laughter. Steve wasn’t sure when everyone had unanimously decided to treat Lang like a toddler, but Steve had a sneaking suspicion it had a little something to do with his alignment in their civil war. He wasn’t the brightest, sure, but Steve thought he was a nice guy.

Tony elbowed him, trying to whisper around a mouthful of food once his suppressed giggles had started to subside. “I think we should just adopt Rocket.”

Steve frowned and replied, “I don’t think he’d take to that very well.” Tony almost choked.

Too soon, at the same time not soon enough, they were gathered on the platform. Steve was giving one of his speeches. “This is the fight of our lives, and we’re gonna win.” Tony looked at Steve, an eyebrow cocked. Steve held it and nodded. “Whatever it takes.”

Tony’s brown eyes were full. Steve could see every emotion swimming there. Anxiety. Fear. Above all, hope.

“He’s pretty good at that!” Rocket said, sounding genuinely impressed. The satisfaction Steve felt at the half-compliment from the tough, obnoxious little guy warmed him more than he’d admit.

Lang tacked on a, “Right?” They broke off into their groups.

“See you in a minute,” Natasha said looking over at Steve, her eyes gleaming with excitement and an achingly familiar, resolute smile dancing across her face.

This ragtag group of heroes. Some old, some new. All different. Steve held Tony’s hand.

_Three teams. Six stones. One shot._

**********

Tony dropped the ball. It had happened so fast. “Cap. Sorry buddy, we got a problem.”

Steve whipped around at the old nickname. He heard Lang, from the backseat, shout, “Ha, yeah we do!” Tony curled his hand and tried to resist the urge to deck him. Smartass. As Lang continued his bitching about _one shot_ this and that, an idea occurred to Tony. It was crazy, but it would work. Steve made a face when Tony described his “vaguely exact idea” of the timeframe they’d have to arrive to pull it off that made him want to scream and kiss him all at once. Steve needed to trust him. Lang continued his bitching at they prepped for takeoff. “Are you sure?” Steve asked. Tony grumbled an incoherent response. He wasn’t sure. But he had to be. _It had to be_.

“—if it doesn’t work, you’re not coming back,” Lang said, fear creeping into his voice. This was so out of his depth, and Tony felt bad for him. Only for a split-second, though.

“Thanks for the pep talk, pissant,” Tony retorted. He turned back to Steve. “You trust me.” It wasn’t a question. After a pause, Steve answered anyway.

“I do.”

“Your call.”

“Here we go,” Steve said, with a nod. They punched in the coordinates, then they were gone. Off to New fucking Jersey.

Tony would be lying if he said Steve in a uniform didn’t do something for him. Maybe they could explore that later. If Tony was being honest, Steve in anything, or nothing at all, did it for him.

“Arnim, you in there?”

Tony scrambled to close the case, cutting the blue glow of the Tesseract as a figure rounded the corner. “Arnim?” The voice called. The figure turned to look at him, and then he damn near flatlined. “Hey, the door’s this way, pal.”

“Oh, yeah,” Tony stammered. He kicked a chair on his way over. After an incredibly awkward and stuttering interaction Tony could barely remember because there was so much blood rushing in his ears, his literal father asked him if he wanted to get some air. Yeah, air was good. He loved air. _Great suggestion, Dad._

Oh god, there was going to be a lot to unpack later. Steve looked shaken, too.

When they got back, they looked around at each other with a satisfied wonder, counting. Then, their eyes settled on Clint. If he’d looked impossibly broken before, he was wrecked now. Tony felt his blood run cold. Bruce asked the question that no one else could verbalize, already knowing the answer.

“Clint, where’s Nat?”

**********

They settled on the pier, looking out over the water.

“Do we know if she had family?” Tony asked. He looked like a caged animal. His ideas had saved them before. Part of Steve was hoping he could do it again, he could practically see his mind whirring with possible solutions. It didn’t matter, though. This is how she would have wanted it, if she could have chosen a way. It was the only solace Steve could take from having another piece of his heart chipped away.

Steve looked at him with tear-brimmed eyes. “Yeah.” He clenched his jaw. “Us.” A deadly, broken assassin, turned superhero. Little girls with bright red wigs dressed head to toe in black, plastic knives strung across their waists, mimicking their favorite badass. They would make it mean something. Steve was only half-listening to Clint and Thor going at it—Clint was obviously battered. He’d been there. He couldn’t imagine—didn’t want to, how that felt. Seeing it and knowing he couldn’t have done anything—what had to be done for them to emerge from this successful. Nat was strong, and smart, and she loved with her whole heart. They had loved her, too. He heard Clint shout something about the “red floating guy” and how Thor should take it up with him, and then their argument fizzled. They could only move forward, and no amount of fighting or yelling could change what had to happen to get here.

Bruce snapped. It worked. And then everything exploded.

“Come on buddy, wake up!” Tony said, his voice shaking. He kicked at Steve’s legs with his armored boot. Steve gasped in a deep breath and the relief in Tony’s voice at his movement was palpable. “That’s my man.”

Steve laid there for a second, trying to get his bearings. There were no bearings to be had. They were—underground? Tony was holding his shield and said a probably smartass comment that Steve couldn’t make out. His ears were still ringing from the explosion. “What happened?”

“You mess with time, it tends to mess back,” Tony said, his eyes distant and the lines in his face deep. “You’ll see.” He helped Steve up, and Steve drew him into a hug. That’s all he knew to do. His body was numb. The initial excitement at the reversal and the fear for Bruce’s well-being had been ripped away so quickly he didn’t know how to react. Tony was taller than him in the suit. He turned his face up and Tony kissed him. He rested his forehead against Tony’s shoulder, the metal of the suit was cool and unyielding against his flushed skin. He tried to catch his breath.

“We’re fucked,” Steve said in a hushed tone, the expletive making Tony hold him tighter. Tony had been rubbing off on him, in more ways than one.

“Oh, don’t make me say it. Don’t make me be the optimistic one,” Tony sighed. His grip tightened around Steve one more time.

Steve stepped back and looked at Tony and traced his thumb across his cheekbone. “Together. We’ve got this. Together.”

Tony nodded, giving him a strained smile.

They met Thor at a sort-of exit from their underground tomb.

“You know it’s a trap, right?”

“Yeah,” Tony sighed. “I don’t much care.”

“Good. As long as we’re all in agreement.” The God of Thunder summoned some crackling clouds as his eyes began to glow a shocking blue and his weapons came flying into his grasp. Steve didn’t exactly have the strongest grasp of the science behind physics or meteorology, but he knew that it didn’t make any sense whatsoever. He figured Tony had probably given himself more than just one headache trying to understand it. It was still cool. “Let’s kill him properly this time.”

They began to walk towards Thanos, weaving between the wreckage. “Congratulations on your betrothal, by the way,” Thor said, eyes ahead. “We shall be merry later, for after our victory, there will be much cause to celebrate.”

“Weird time buddy, but thank you,” Tony said, clapping him on his sturdy back. Steve hummed his thanks.

“I hope so.”

Tony glanced down as Steve jostled his armored hand. He was attempting to give it a comforting squeeze. _It’s going to be okay. We’ve got this._

The continued towards the villain of this story. Just like the good old days, and not like the good old days at all.

**********

They were going to lose. Thanos had brushed them off like a couple of nuisance bugs. Tony was panting, momentarily dazed. He’d even whooped Thor’s ass, and wasn’t that a sight to behold. That flicker of hope burned bright when Steve had summon Mjolnir—the righteous bastard. He matched him stroke for stroke, but the cockroach fucker just wouldn’t stay down. Thanos was rounding on Steve, busting apart his shield with one deafening stroke after another. Thanos slung him out of Tony’s line of sight with the ease of a rag. Tony willed himself to move, but he was frozen in terror and defeat. He tried to catch his breath, think of something, _anything_. They needed a miracle, and that wasn’t something all the braincells in the world could procure. If anyone else planned to show up to the party, they needed to do it _now._

Tony heard a crackle in the communicator, and a far off voice that sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite place. Then, he realized—it was Sam. Tony laughed. The portals starting opening. They were coming to the party after all. Steve headed the group—the army. All eyes turned forward, staring down their foes. The air was crackling with a nervous energy—every hero, every warrior, every soldier. Hundreds of faces he didn’t know, and some he did. Not a single one was he sad to see. He heard Steve over the communicator.

“Avengers,” Steve commanded, Mjolnir flying into his _worthy_ grasp. Despite it all, Tony couldn’t help but think it was hot. “Assemble.”

Then, they charged. Pepper flew up next to him, blasting the creatures out of the way, keeping up with his every move. Tony was surprised but not shocked to see her. “Where’s Happy?”

“At home with Ellie. Wouldn’t miss this on your life.” Her familiar voice echoed out of the suit.

“You’ve been training,” Tony said, admiring every swift, decisive action she took.

“Learned from only the best,” she countered, blasting an alien behind him and missing his helmet by less than an inch.

”Thought you didn’t dig the hero thing anymore?” Tony couldn’t help but jab. 

He voice was nostalgic as she gave a quick gesture to the shitshow unfolding around them. “For this, I thought I should make an exception.”

Then, he saw Peter. The relief was a tsunami. The kid was babbling about where he’d been, and what had happened—Tony already knew, though. He’d been there for most of it, after all. He could barely hear him over the roar of battle around them. Tony pulled the boy into a hug. “What are you doing—oh, this is nice,” Peter said, halting his incoherent, excited stream of consciousness. Holy fuck, he was glad to see him. Parker had been one of the driving forces behind his decision. And here he was, alive. They had to keep it that way. He was too brave for his own good.

Over the communicator, Tony heard Clint shout for Steve. “Cap, what do you want me to do with this damn thing?” He was alive. That was good. He had the gauntlet. That was also good, but also terrible. The dude was a usually a beast when it came to the battlefield, but Thanos would rip him to shreds. He saw T’Challa grab it from him from a distance, then lost sight of the warrior amidst the endless wave of enemies pouring out of the spacecrafts. Somehow he heard the echo of that shitty van’s horn over the noise. Damn, that thing was loud. Tony spotted Strange. He landed, hard, and flipped open his helmet.

“Hey, you said one of fourteen million and we win, yeah?” He said, breathing heavy. They were all covered in dirt and grime, their actions and eyes frantic. Strange was—well, strangely calm. “Tell me this is it.”

“If I tell you what happens,” Strange shook his head, looking firm but regretful. “It won’t happen.”

It felt like a punch to his gut. “You better be right,” Tony said. He knew what he had to do. He didn’t like it. It was going to hurt like a bitch. He’d told Steve they’d lose people. He wondered if he would have still been so confident if he’d known Tony going to be the sacrifice. _Whatever it takes_. He saw a flash of Peter’s suit through the dust and bodies. This was always how it was going to end, wasn’t it?

The tide of monsters was going to overwhelm then again, and Tony wondered what kind of miracles they had left. Certainly they’d have used all of them up.

Maybe not a miracle, but a Marvel. That’s what they’d needed. Tony had nearly forgotten about her in the chaos. F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s declaration of something entering the upper atmosphere was drowned out by the sound of Danvers screaming through the sky, bursting through one side of the enemy ship and out the other. As he’d thought before, _damn_ , what a woman.

He heard Steve’s voice come to life over the communicator. “Danvers, we need an assist here.” Tony couldn’t help but grin at Steve’s great attempt at sarcasm. She was going to save their asses, that was for sure.

Then, Thanos got the gauntlet. Tony tried to tackle him, but got flicked off just as easily as the first time. He hit a wall of debris, sent sprawling and dazed by the purple asshole once again. He stumbled to his feet as Thor and Steve wrestled with him, attempting to get him in a choke hold with the axe and the hammer. He headbutted Thor, then tackled Steve and punched him in the face. Tony staggered towards him, but Steve had already started to move. Tough cookie, that one.

Carol almost had it. Tony hoped this was the one. The _one_ chance they had—Carol, ripping the gauntlet off him. Taking half of his arm off with it, why not? Thanos, bleeding out on the battlefield through a stump, the Avengers: Extended Edition dancing around him in glee. Maybe Strange had just been fucking with him all along.

Then, Thanos plucked the Soul Stone out of the gauntlet with his fist and punched her in the face, sending her flying. She wouldn’t get up so easily this time. Thanos inserted the purple stone back into the gauntlet with a grunt. Strange caught Tony’s eye and held up a single finger with a shaking hand, his cool collectivity from earlier had evaporated. They were down to seconds if Tony didn’t do it.

Before Tony could stop to consider the repercussions, he launched himself at the glowing gauntlet. The colors were already pulsating, racing up Thanos’s arm. _One shot._ He thought for a split second he was too late, but he twisted at the glove anyway. Thanos landed another solid punch and sent him flying, but it didn't jar him nearly as much that time. Tony had already halfway let go. It was over, and Thanos didn’t even know it. Tony felt tears stinging at his eyes. Damn, being a good person hurt.

Thanos looked smug. “I am inevitable.” His voice was calm. Confident. His face sported a sneer. Tony could practically hear the entire battlefield holding a collective breath. _It’s okay, guys. I’ve got this._ He could see Danvers stirring out of the corner of his eye. He looked at Steve, trying to drag himself to his feet, his eyes locked on Thanos’s hand. Thanos snapped.

They were met with the sound of clinking metal, nothing more. The look of confusion on Thanos’s face made Tony’s heart swell with victory.

Tony turned his hand, watching the colors spin themselves through his armor. The pain—that’s the first thing he felt, cutting through his adrenaline that had, for the most part, been dulling it. He thought of what his dad had said to him, back in New Jersey. Back in time. _The greater good has rarely outweighed my own self-interest._ For the first moment in his entire life, he felt like he’s doing something his father never could. He reveled in the realization creeping over Thanos’s face. _That’s right. It’s over. And not for us._ He felt the power, then—racing through his veins more intensely than any drug humans could ever dream to come up with. The pain was still there, but he trained his eyes on the enemy, directing every ounce of the energy he could feel tearing his atoms apart towards one thing, and one thing only—evaporating Thanos and every goon he had the audacity to bring with him. Tony was breathing heavily. He didn’t have long. He was hurtling headfirst into the abyss, every cell of his body catching fire. It had been a good life—a better one that he could have ever dreamed. He tried not to look at Steve, who seemed to be rushing towards him. He wished he had the energy to tell him to stop, give him a speech about how he’d changed the trajectory of his life, how he’d put back together all of Tony’s broken parts. He only had time to say one more thing, and that time was short. He thought of the shortest love letter he could write, to Steve and everyone else standing around them, beaten and bruised and held together by threads, all the people that had believed in him, and fought with him, and protected him, while he protected them in turn. He felt like he was watching himself speak from outside his body. Maybe he was. “And…I. Am. Iron Man.” Tony snaps, and everything went white.

**********

Steve grabbed Tony’s face and wrist at the same time. He heard the chink of metal against metal when Tony snapped right next to his ear. A white hot pain so sharp it made getting injected with the serum feel like a hangnail shot through his body. He felt the flesh on his hands start to melt into the material of his gloves. Then he was looking at Tony. They were standing on a beach somewhere, though the image seemed to get fuzzy a couple dozen feet out—like they were in a dream, or a painting. One of Steve’s hands was pressed against Tony’s cheek, the other was around his wrist. They were dressed like they were going to go to a nice dinner, but not too nice. Their skin was clean and unmarked. Tony’s expression began to shift like a shuffling deck of cards. First relief, then fear, then anger. Tony grabbed Steve by the shoulders and shook him, catching Steve off-guard. Steve was confused. He attempted to protest. “It’s nice here. What are you—”

“ _What did you do?_ ” Tony hissed, his eyes wide and chest heaving.

“I don’t know. I can’t— _oh_.” It clicked for Steve all at once, and their last few moments starting slipping back into him in flashes.

“I was going to die anyway, Steve,” Tony said, frantic, running his hands through his hair and staring around, not quite focusing on anything at all. “I didn’t tell you. I never told you, because I hoped he was wrong. Strange—he said there was only _one_ way we could win, Steve. When we were on that planet, before he gave Thanos the stone. Fourteen million outcomes—fourteen _million_. And we had one chance. I was supposed to go down, that’s how it was _always_ going to end. Strange wouldn’t tell me outright because he thought if he did—I wouldn’t have done it. But I think that’s the least fair of all, because I stopped being afraid of dying for the people I love a long time ago.”

Steve didn’t know what to say. Tony was making him feel guilty. “Tony—” Steve made an attempt to touch his shoulder, and Tony whipped around and smacked his hand out of the way.

“You killed yourself, and it’s not even going to save me.” He was stabbing Steve in the chest with his pointer finger. Tony face began to crumble. “That’s not what I would have wanted.” Anger slipped away to grief. He finally let Steve hold him. Steve could only think that he didn’t feel very dead.

Steve wasn’t sure how long he was out, because it couldn’t have been long. The dream, or hallucination, or whatever it was, had faded out and plopped him right back into reality with a suddenness that sent him reeling. He rolled over and threw up. There was blood in it. That wasn’t good. He looked down at his arms. His left hand, the one that had been wrapped around Tony’s glove—the stones—was ruined. He couldn’t even feel it. He wondered for a brief second if he ever would again. He tried to flex his fingers and got a weak tremor. His suit had melted away in certain sections and there was a fading glow running through his veins. His other hand was charred, the glove burned away in a few spots, but nothing serious in comparison. Then, it truly set in what had happened. He snapped his head up with a fierceness that set a sharp jet of paint through his skull and down his spine. He threw up again. More blood. That _really_ wasn’t good. His vision adjusted, still fuzzy around the edges, and he felt someone over him. It was Danvers. “Cap. Are you there? Can you hear me?” Her voice sounded thin and reedy, completely unlike the commanding Captain Marvel he’d exclusively seen her as. He tried to open his mouth to speak but his throat was so dry he could do nothing but croak. He mouthed the word _Tony_ and she seemed to have understood him because she pointed to his left. She had a hand resting on his back. Maybe he was actually talking in more than a croak. The voices and sounds around him seemed to be pulsating both from far away and much too close, as if he was speeding in and out of a tunnel. He slowly managed to crane his neck to where she was pointing.

He’d been blown no less than forty feet away from Tony. Steve’s vision was still blurry. He could just barely make out the flash of dirty red and gold of his suit. He was resting against a piece of debris. Metal figures that were probably Rhodey and Pepper were standing above him. A small figure, he guessed Peter, was crouched down in front of him, so Steve couldn’t see his face. He tried to will his body to stand, but Danvers placed a firm hand on his damaged shoulder. He groaned at the pain. “Sorry, buddy. You can’t move. Worried you might fall apart.”

Steve slipped into unconsciousness, only one word on his mind: _Tony_.

He woke up a full week later in the hospital. Not a normal hospital. It was too advanced. _Much_ too advanced. Bucky was there and he hung onto the shred of relief that gave him like a lifeline. “You’re in Wakanda.”

“Where’s Tony?” Steve asked. That was the only thing he cared about. He could be on the moon, _any_ moon, and it would have still been the only question on his mind.

“He’s—” Bucky started, then paused. Steve felt his heart plummet. “I’m not going to lie to you, because I can’t. He’s not out of the trenches yet, buddy. But he’s halfway stable.” Bucky put out an arm, the vibranium one, and held him in place. Steve was feeling flighty, so he wasn’t in the wrong. He wanted to go for a run, but he still felt like he’d been hit by a truck. Several trucks. Big ones. If he still felt this bad after a _week_ , the logical part of his stunned mind wondered how Tony was still alive. He didn’t even know if he could stand yet. Bucky released his shoulder once he was sure Steve wasn’t going to make an escape attempt. _Not that you’d get far_ , the look on his face said. Steve examined his own arm. Angry, red burns scaled their way up his forearm, his bicep, and he was sure they extended all the way up to his neck. He was fascinated, in a grim sort of way. He hadn’t ever seen marks quite like these on his skin—neither before the serum or after. “They had to pull the entire arm of your suit off with tweezers. They even had to cut some of it off with scissors. It was _bad,_ Steve.” Bucky look haunted. “What you did was stupid.”

“Is he alive, or not?” Steve said, his voice steady. Buck nodded.

“He hasn’t been even slightly responsive this entire week. You had fits, at least, though you probably don’t remember them,” Bucky explained. He didn’t. Bucky held out a small plastic back with a small, blackened object in it. “This is all that was left of your ring.”

He took the bag with his good hand, the one that hadn’t touched the gauntlet, and looked at it through the plastic. It was terribly warped, a small part of it had completely melted away. But it was there. He grabbed it out of the bag with delicate fingers, running his pinky over the inside. He could no longer read it, but he could feel that part of the word etched into the metal was still there. Steve leaned back in the bed and slipped it onto his finger as best as he could. He dozed back off into a fitful slumber, just as the people that Bucky had evidently buzzed in some secret way came rushing through the door. He recognized through drooping eyes that Bruce, Clint, and Thor were among them. No Natasha. He hoped she’d be proud.

Steve was completely back on his feet within two weeks. Although he got tired just a little bit more quickly, there were things that needed to be done that couldn’t wait any longer. He had been staying at the compound during the last few days of his recovery, as soon as he was in the clear with the Wakandan medical team. Bucky video-chatted him daily with updates on Tony, and always gave him the chance to see his sleeping figure, the slow but steady rise and fall of his chest, as reassurance. He wished he could have stayed, but there was work to do. Steve had to take the stones back.

He’d had a brief chat with a disgruntled Stephen Strange one day while he was still in the hospital. Steve had cracked an eye as Strange had approached one of the screens in the room, tapped in a few places, opened a few files, murmured something to himself, then turned to go. Steve spoke up before he made it to the door, sitting up in bed and staring him down. “Can I help you with something, Doctor?”

Strange did something unexpected—he smiled. “I wish. You’re an anomaly, in more ways than one.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asked. “Tony told me—he said you could see the future, or something. He said that he had to die.”

“I was certain he would have to. It was my mistake, to have thought there were absolutes when it comes to magic.” Strange’s expression was distant, almost as if he was talking more to himself than to Steve. He refocused his gaze, seeming to come back from a far away place. “You two somehow managed to buck the system. I hope he makes it—I always did.”

Strange then marched out of the door with a swish of his cape and not another word.

There were two things he needed to do while he was returning the stones, and he didn’t mention either of them before he left. Meddling with time was a tricky thing, that much had been made clear. There were two stones that were of the utmost interest to him—the Space Stone, and the Soul Stone. He was going to tell Peggy goodbye, and he was going to bring Natasha back.

He found Peggy in her office. He knocked on the door this time, instead of just staring at her through the glass. He had time, this time. Some, anyway. He prepared himself with a finger over his lips to _shh_ her. He would have never done something like this unless he knew she could handle it. When she opened the door, she looked like she’d seen a ghost. That was because she had—he was nothing but a ghost to her. “Shh, let me explain.” He did, and she let him.

“You mean to tell me, you’re from the future,” Peggy said, her eyes bright with wonder, a surprising amount of understanding, but just a hint of disbelief. She was sitting on top of her desk. “This is a prank.”

“Peggy—listen. No. It’s—I can’t get into it, not in huge detail,” Steve said. “I can’t stay, either. And you absolutely cannot tell anyone I was here. I’m only here because I trust you.”

Peggy’s eyes started welling up, and Steve’s did in turn. He took her hands in his. “You’re going to be happy. So, _so_ happy.”

“What about you?” She asked with reproach. Of course. Of _course_ , she was worried about _him_ , even though he’d just told her he wouldn’t be staying, when he technically could. He could just slip back into this timeline as easily as he could an old pair of shoes. It would branch off, or whatever Bruce had been prattling on about when he’d attempted to explain it, a different timeline, whatever. He could do it. “Are you happy?”

He thought about Tony, unresponsive in the hospital bed, but breathing. A steady rise and fall. He nodded. “Yes.”

“Why did you come here?” She whispered, looking down at their hands. He was still holding them.

“I made you a promise,” Steve said. He stepped over to the radio on the other side of the room, and was almost surprised he still remembered to work the old thing. It had been a while, but it turned out to be like riding a bike. He’d never really forgotten. He put on a style of music he knew she liked, some slow jazz, and offered a hand to her. They danced. He kissed her on the cheek as they said goodbye, and she went on to live the rest of her life.

Vormir was terrifying. He felt cold and alone. It became even more so when he found out who the _red floating guy_ Clint had mentioned really was. A familiar voice wrapped its tendrils around him. It made his skin crawl. “Steve Rogers, son of Joseph Rogers. I believe you have something you’d like to return.”

The half-ghostly figure approached him from the shadows. Steve’s blood ran cold. “Schmidt?” He said, a half-formed question that he already knew the answer to.

“I have no use for a name,” the man— _thing_ —continued. “Please present the stone.”

Steve set his jaw. Why not have just _one more_ absolutely improbable reunion before this was all through? “You have something I need in exchange.”

“A soul for a soul. It cannot be returned, nor can it be reversed.” The eyes of the man that had become Red Skull were as cruel as they’d ever been.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned,” Steve said, looking past the cloaked figure. “There are no absolutes. If you won’t return her, it’s because you won’t. It’s not because you can’t.”

“…Steve? Is that you?” He heard a weak voice cry out from the distance. It was her. He knew it was her.

“Lying jerk.” He threw the stone in its case at the sneering Red Skull and darted past him, leaving the old nightmare behind. There were bigger threats than him—there always would be. He had gotten what he deserved. Steve stared down into the chasm. _Natasha_ was lying there. She looked thin—too thin. She was starving. But she was alive.

“Natasha—oh my god,” Steve cried, covering his mouth with one of his hands to stifle the sobs of relief threatening to break loose. “I—I’m coming, don’t move.”

She huffed out an almost laugh. Her voice was a wisp as it rose up from the space beneath him. “Luckily, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

**********

When Tony woke up, his vision was foggy. He could hear someone saying something, but it sounded far away, or like his ears were stuffed with cotton, but that also didn’t seem right. It was too bright. It was probably daylight, and he was probably late for something. Had he been drinking? He closed his eyes again and took a deep breath. It smelled nice, wherever he was—like flowers and soap. He started remembering the feelings, first. The feelings he’d had—he’d been afraid. Really afraid. He’d also been determined. He’d felt…acceptance? Then he was angry, then it went dark. Then, the mental freeze seemed to thaw all at once, and it hit him like a train. He tried to open his eyes again and attempted to sit up. He panicked when he felt a hand curl around his left forearm and pin him down and started thrashing, but couldn’t quite get his mouth to work. Where the fuck was he? What _happened?_ Steve had grabbed his arm and his face and then they were on a weird beach and then he _died_ , he _knew_ he died, because he had to for it to work. He forced his eyes open again, and they finally began to adjust. He wondered how long it had been since he had last opened them. “Tony, it’s Steve. It’s okay.”

“Steve,” Tony repeated. It was Steve. His hair was just a little longer and his facial hair had begun to grow out, but it _was_ Steve. He tried to reach up with his right hand, his dominant hand, and he felt like a brick was sitting on it. His left hand was more pliant, so he stuck with that one. He touched Steve’s face. It wasn’t like the dream, or vision, or whatever it had been, after he’d snapped. “You’re not dead.”

Steve put his hand over Tony’s, and moved it to his mouth. He kissed it. He was crying, silent tears sliding down his cheeks, shoulders shaking. Steve pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket (because of _course_ he had a handkerchief) and scrubbed at his face. Tony swiped a tear that had made it all the way down to Steve’s chin away with his thumb. “Why the long face?” Tony pulled a pout as best as he could when he could barely recall how muscles worked, but he thought it probably came out more like a grimace. He was just trying to make him laugh. Anything other than this, because Tony couldn’t take this. 

“It’s been sixty-seven days, Tony,” Steve whispered. He reached out and moved a lock of hair out of Tony’s face. It was probably time for a haircut then, he supposed. Someone had been trimming his beard to some extent, at least. He could feel that much.

“Damn, you mean I could have held out just two more I could have made it _sixty-nine?_ ” Tony said, dropping his jaw in mock horror. Steve shook his head, that familiar blush creeping up his neck. He was smiling, though. Still shaking. And crying, a little. Steve was feeling a lot of things and it was making Tony nervous and the heart rate on the monitor spiked to the point a nurse must have been summoned because she poked her head in and covered her mouth, eyes alight with something like victory. _Sixty-seven days._ Somehow, Tony still felt exhausted. He tried to move his right arm again. He looked down, and felt a nervous uncertainty creep into the room. “What—do you know what the deal is, here?” Tony gestured at his right arm with his left hand. It was covered in some kind of foreign looking bandages. Thin, glowing wires ran out of it in some spots.

“You’re in Wakanda,” Steve said. “It was the best place for them to bring us, to make sure we came back. As much of us as possible. Your arm—they hooked those up to it—” Steve gestured at the wires. “—to try to restimulate the nerves. Er, something like that. I’m sure they’ll explain it better once that nurse brings in the cavalry, should be any second now. I’ve just—I’ve been in here a lot. I’ve overheard a lot, and retained bits and pieces.” He picked up the notebook in his lap. A newer one, from the looks of it. “I’ve been taking notes, sometimes.” So, Tony’s arm was fucked up. Bad. His dominant arm. Even worse. But the way Steve was looking at him—the earnestness and openness in his face so raw and bright it was almost blinding—made him believe it was going to be okay, because it would be. Certainly he could teach Steve how to solder. Tony reached over and grabbed Steve’s hand. He noticed the mangled ring on his finger and he sniffled, trying not to cry, because if he started, right then, he didn’t know when he’d stop and then he’d dry up and die probably, and he didn’t spend nearly sixty-nine days in a coma to die _now_.

“Gotta make you another one of those,” Tony said. His eyes started to droop a bit and leaned back on the bed. He was feeling very, very tired again. He yawned. “That thing was vibranium. Those stones were no joke.”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows. “I didn’t know you _made_ it.”

“’Course. Well—F.R.I.D.A.Y. helped, kind of. But I made F.R.I.D.A.Y. Maybe this time we’ll get to make you a wedding ring.” Tony hummed happily as he felt Steve kiss him, and although he would have loved to meet the adoring fans that began filing in the room as sleep overtook him, one of whom had an incredible likeness to Natasha, that would have to wait.


	4. Epilogue

Penny had been right. The wedding did turn out to be quite the event after all.

They had rented an entire vineyard, including the mansion on the property. Steve liked wine, and Tony liked Steve, so both of them were fairly agreeable when choosing the venue. Steve, of course, thought it was a bit gratuitous, but Tony had said he’d been planning his wedding ever since he was a little boy, so wouldn’t he please just go along with it? They also had an entire security task force surrounding the place, making sure no paparazzi snuck their way in. They’d written their own vows, of course, and apparently Natasha had become an ordained minister on some undercover mission over a decade ago that she wouldn’t drop the details of no matter _how_ much Tony pestered her (or how much vodka he offered), so she officiated the ceremony and stepped into the role with enthusiasm.

Steve and Tony had settled into a table near the DJ booth. The sun had set, but the tent was brightened with hundreds of unwired fairy lights. It played off of their friends’ faces with an ethereal glow. Quill had offered to DJ and after checking out his playlists, which were honestly pretty good, Tony had agreed—even though, he assured Steve, he still thought he was stupid. His mother had had good taste, at least. Thor had joined Quill in the booth and they were bickering over what to play next. Not long after Tony and Steve had sat down, Penny approached them. Steve stood and hugged her immediately, then took the opportunity to introduce her to Tony. There was another woman trailing behind her. He looked between the other woman and Penny. “Is this Anna?”

“Holy shit, you know my name!” The woman named Anna shook her head in disbelief, then her hand shot up to her mouth. “Oh, god, I’m so sorry, that was so rude. Yeah, it’s Anna. It’s—it’s a pleasure, Captain. Pen told me all about you.” She reached out to shake his hand, trying to be rigidly professional, but he pulled her into a hug as well. She was practically vibrating. She murmured something that might have been another _holy shit_ as she scrambled to return the embrace.

“Steve is fine,” he said, and Anna turned a darker shade of red.

“Yeah—oh, of course. Yeah, Steve,” Anna stuttered. Penny turned her attention to Tony.

“It’s a pleasure finally make your acquaintance as well, Mr. Stark,” Penny said, peeking around Steve to look at Tony, her words polite but those intelligent eyes glittering.

“Oh, little lady, I feel obligated to write you into my will for the part you played in this.” Tony waved his good hand around in an all-encompassing gesture. “The pleasure is all mine. Truly.”

“Don’t make any promises you don’t intend to keep,” she said in a foreboding voice that made Tony’s expression falter. She laughed. “I’m just fucking with you. Be good. Stay in touch. Thanks for being Iron Man and saving my wife and half of the rest of the universe on top of it.” She offered Tony a fist bump that Tony returned after a moment’s hesitation. As they turned to leave, Anna gave them a small wave, still star-struck.

Tony shook his head and huffed. “I’m not sure if I like her or want to have Nat run a background check on her.” Steve rolled his eyes, and Tony kissed him through it.

Rocket sauntered over to Steve and Tony and raised what would have been an eyebrow on a human face. He looked at Tony. “How’s it hanging, Mr. Stank?” Tony’s jaw nearly dropped. Steve was confused—it seemed like a sub-par joke, if even a joke at all, to him. Rocket cackled. “Rhodes gave me forty bucks to say that to you, what a deal.” Rhodey waved at them from a few tables down with what Tony would refer to as a _shit-eating grin_ on his face. Rocket continued, clambering onto one of the chairs. “Couldn’t have made it sixty-nine days, huh?”

“You little shit,” Tony said. “Where’d you get your suit? Babies R Us?”

Rocket bristled. “Burberry, asshole. You’re not the only one with good taste around here. This guy, on the other hand—” He waved a paw in Steve’s direction, redirecting his attention. “Good fuckin’ luck with this one, pal.” He cocked a thumb at Tony as he raised his glass, and they raised theirs back. He hopped off the chair and swaggered off to where Groot was admittedly killing it on the dance floor. Gamora was trying to cover a laugh with her hand as she and Nebula watched Drax try to keep up. Nebula never really laughed, but there was the hint of a smile there—like on the Mona Lisa. Bruce came up behind Steve and Tony and startled them with a firm clap on the back. Seeing Halfway-Hulk in a sweater had been fascinating, but seeing him in a suit was a whole new ballgame. He stood there with them for a minute, watching everyone like they were. “This is—” Bruce said, shaking his head. “It’s incredible.” He wandered off with a thoughtful smile on his face, and stopped at the table where T’Challa was sitting at to chat. Okoye and Natasha were in some kind of heated debate, but a friendly one. They were both nodding enthusiastically, and Nat was smiling.

“I still can’t believe it,” Tony said. Steve barely could himself, and he was the one that had brought her home. Bruce _had_ been able to bring her back, against Tony’s express direction to not change anything else that had happened in the last five years. She’d been trapped at the base of a cliff on an alien planet, drinking water from a small pool that had gathered and hoping it wouldn’t poison her while she waited patiently for rescue. Tony hazarded that time had messed with them enough to give them at least that one and they both decided not to question it.

Hope and Scott were swaying on the dancefloor, offbeat but seeming to enjoy each other’s company. Hope’s parents were sipping their wine, talking and looking happily lost in each other's eyes. Danvers was at a table with Fury and Hill. Fury was, to Steve’s surprise, smiling. Danvers was the kind of hero that Steve would have had a poster of on his wall when he was a kid, if she’d been around. She was cool.

Pepper and Happy made their way over a little later. Tony almost stumbled standing up from his seat, and wrapped an arm around her. He pecked her on the cheek. “I’m so grateful we could all be here—together. I love the both of you to pieces.” She reached out, grabbed Steve’s hand, and gave it a good squeeze.

Happy rocked back on the balls of his feet, looking somehow sheepish within his big frame. A huge grin was spread across his face. “Make that the both of us.”

They’d chatted for a few more minutes, and when they left, hands laced together, Tony looked utterly satisfied. It made Steve happy.

Clint was dancing with his daughter, Lila, as Laura recorded them with her cellphone, smiling ear-to-ear. Clint had a look on his face that Steve was worried they’d never see again. Wanda was offering Cooper some telekinetic entertainment.

Peter was talking with a young man that Tony had invited—a boy named Harley Keener. Apparently, he’d helped Tony when he’d crash-landed in Tennessee back during the Extremis attacks. He was bright, too, and he and Peter seemed to be hitting it off. They were chattering about something Steve would probably not be able to understand, and only half of which Tony would. Peter’s shockingly attractive Aunt May was sitting at a table near them, and Sam was shamelessly flirting with her. Bucky was at the same table, watching with just a hint of wonder. Strange snuck up behind Tony and Steve as they were making jokes about what the two boys could have been talking about. _How_ did people keep sneaking up on him? He was relaxed, that was why. The most relaxed he’d been in his life, probably.

“Two in fourteen million,” he said, cryptically and with no context. He’d swapped out his usual whimsical, dated attire for a sharp suit. The guy used to be a neurosurgeon, after all. He could work a suit. Tony whipped around, frowning, then the realization creeped over his face. _An anomaly._ Steve couldn’t have forgotten that short conversation they’d had in his hospital room if he’d wanted to.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Tony said, holding out his hand. Strange took it and gave it one firm shake.

“This should have been a funeral,” Strange said, then looked at Steve. He reached out and touched his shoulder for a brief second. “I’m glad you could prove me wrong.”

Then, he was gone. Tony took another sip of his wine. “That guy’s a freak. You think he’s ever used one of those portals as a gloryhole?” Steve only had the vaguest idea of what the word _gloryhole_ entailed, and he was sure that Tony would be more than happy to elaborate in detail if he let on that he didn’t quite know, so he decided to laugh and shake his head instead.

“He’s right, you know,” Steve said, after a moment of listening to the party carry on around them. “ You defied magic to be here.”

Tony wrapped a hand around his side, pulling him closer. “No, _you_ defied magic so I could be here.”

They kissed. They enjoyed the rest of the evening with their friends, their family, who were all dressed for a wedding, not a funeral—laughter painting their faces, rather than tears. Steve was glad this timeline was his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time I've written an entire fic before I posted a single piece of it. If you made it this far, thank you. I hope it made you smile. Leave a comment, if you have the time. It means a lot. Stay safe out there. <3


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